Holy Angels Guard Thy Rest
by mnemosyne23
Summary: Malcolm returns to Enterprise after a supply run and finds the ship deserted. What has happened to the crew? Malcolm/Hoshi. COMPLETE! Kind reviews welcome!
1. If Ever a Sound in Silence Made

**TITLE:** HOLY ANGELS GUARD THY REST  
_CHAPTER 1: If Ever a Sound in Silence Made_  
  
**AUTHOR:** MNEMOSYNE  
**DISCLAIMER:** All _Enterprise_ related characters are the property of their rightful shepherds. Any new situations, characters, creatures, etc, are mine. The poem that makes up the chapter headings of this story is mine as well, written especially for this story. LOL! I think I was in a creative mood. LOL! **RATING:** R, for violence and some language  
**CATEGORY:** Angst, Drama, Romance, Action, Deathfic  
**CODES:** R/S (heavy on the R) with touches of everyone  
**NOTES:**  
I don't know what possessed me to write a piece this angst-ridden, but something seems to have taken hold of my hands and typed this out. LOL! It skips back and forth between "past" and "present," but you should be able to tell them apart quite easily. To make it simpler, the past segments have been italicized. And as always, internal thoughts //are between slash marks//. :D **This takes place in an AU future.**   
  


* * *

  
_Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,  
Alone and palely loitering;  
The sedge is wither'd from the lake,  
And no birds sing. _

- "La Belle Dame Sans Merci" by Keats 

  
  
The ship was quiet as he docked in the deserted shuttle bay, and immediately Malcolm was on guard. He'd been ill-at-ease since hailing the ship twenty minutes ago with no reply. Subsequent hails had also gone unanswered, leaving Lieutenant Reed with the acidic taste of dread on the back of his tongue, and a phase pistol ready in his hand as he disembarked. 

The bay was indeed empty, which only added to his disquiet. Even if the ship's comm system had somehow been damaged and unable to reply to his hails, Captain Archer would certainly have had someone here waiting for him, to explain the situation upon his return. Trip would have been grinning at him from the control room, all white teeth and twinkling eyes, and everything would have been right with the universe. 

But nobody was here, and no one was arriving. Which left Malcolm with two frightening questions. First, what had happened to the crew? And second… 

…Who had opened the shuttle bay doors? 

//Think,// Malcolm told himself silently as he stole across the shuttle bay. It was no good to try hiding - whoever had let him in obviously knew he was back, which meant they were probably watching his every move. But every fiber of his body was screaming at him to _remember your training! Remember your rank! Remember to go for the eyes!_

With the footsteps of a cat, he glided towards the doors which would let him out into the corridor. But before he reached them, he froze, turned his eyes upward and to the left, and stared eye to lens with the camera he knew was there, monitoring his every action. He found it with pinpoint accuracy, which was only natural, since he'd installed it; a security precaution, to survey "guests" as they came aboard. "Yer one paranoid son-of-a-bitch, Malcolm," Trip had teased him as they'd hooked up the wiring. 

"You say that now," Malcolm remembered answering. "But when this camera saves you from a pack of marauding space pirates someday, I'll expect effusive thanks." 

The whole thing seemed silly now. Whatever had happened to the crew, this puny camera had obviously done nothing to stop it. 

With a fluid, practiced hand, Malcolm raised his phase pistol and fired. The camera exploded with a hiss of escaping electricity and a small plume of flame, then was quiet, belching smoke into the empty, echoing shuttle bay. 

Turning away from the door, Malcolm all but ran to the maintenance hatch a few meters away. Ripping the grating off the front, he tucked his phase pistol back into its holster and clambered into the hole in the wall. It was a tight fit, making it nearly impossible to maneuver. A jagged bolt ripped through his uniform and tore a long red gash in his shoulder as he squirmed around, making the lieutenant curse as he reached out into the bay and pulled the grating back up to cover the hole behind him. "Should have made these damned things wider," he muttered as he started to climb over bulky equipment and glowing power couplings. "No wonder Hoshi lost her shirt that time." 

Hoshi. 

_No. Mustn't think of her. Mustn't think of anything but the job, the job, find what happened and solve it. Fix the problem. Fix the ship. Hoshi later, ship now._

Malcolm stopped moving. He'd come to a crossroads in the shaft, and was given three options: turn left, turn right, go straight. Left would take him towards engineering; right would take him towards Sickbay; straight would take him home. 

He didn't have time to dawdle. Decisions had to be made in an instant in a situation such as this. If the crew had taken ill, Sickbay was the place to go. But if someone had taken control of the ship, their first priority would have been to secure engineering. 

Then they would have taken prisoners, and confined everyone to quarters. Perhaps they would have killed a few, to send a message to the rest. 

With a growl of frustration and a racing heart, Malcolm began moving again, straight ahead, eyes fixed on the dim shaft in front of him. //I'll find someone on B-deck,// he rationalized. //They'll certainly be able to tell me what the hell is going on.// 

Mind clear, Malcolm Reed was going to find his wife. 


	2. Twas Made in Haste and Under Stress

**TITLE:** HOLY ANGELS GUARD THY REST  
_CHAPTER 2: Twas Made in Haste and Under Stress_  
  
**AUTHOR:** MNEMOSYNE  
**RATING:** R, for violence and some language  
**CATEGORY:** Angst, Drama, Romance, Action, Deathfic  
**CODES:** R/S (heavy on the R) with touches of everyone  


  


* * *

  
  
**THREE DAYS EARLIER**   
  
_"If you keep sending him off on these little supply runs, Jonathan, I'm going to start thinking you're jealous." _

Malcolm laughed quietly as he listened to the muffled conversation coming from behind him. His head - and most of his upper body - was stuffed into a storage compartment under one of the bunks of Shuttlepod One, but he could still hear well enough to know that his wife was only joking with the captain. As if he were looking at her, he could picture the twinkle in her eye and the bright white band of her smile. 

"You found me out, Hoshi," he heard the captain reply. "I've been madly in love with you since that summer in Brazil. Let's run away together and live like Tarzan and Jane on the first jungle planet we come across." 

The bell-like peal of Hoshi's laughter was enough to bring Malcolm out from under the bunk. He sat back on his haunches, rubbing the palms of his hands on the legs of his uniform, and gave his wife and their captain a lopsided grin. "There something going on I should know about, sir?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and giving Hoshi a surreptitious wink. 

Captain Jonathan Archer, patriarch of the starship _Enterprise_, leveled him with a steady gaze. "No, nothing," the captain deadpanned. "What makes you ask, Malcolm?" 

"I thought I heard you propositioning my wife, sir, is all." 

"Nothing of the kind, lieutenant." 

"Ah." 

"I was merely making idle conversation." 

"I see." 

"I assure you, had I been propositioning Hoshi, you'd be the first to know." 

"So all that Tarzan and Jane talk was just…chit chat." 

"Absolutely." 

"Mm-hmm." 

"Just expressing an appreciation for the classics, Malcolm." 

"And the jungle planet?" 

"Color." 

"Ah-ha." 

Lieutenant Hoshi Sato - known to her friends as Hoshi, to everyone else as Lieutenant Sato, and to Malcolm as the dear and beloved Mrs. Reed - couldn't hold in her laughter any longer, and doubled over as a giggle fit took hold of her. Wrapping an arm around her stomach, she held up a hand in supplication. "C…cut it out!" she squealed, tears of laughter running down her cheeks. "My… my lungs hurt!" 

"I've heard steam helps with respiratory problems, Hoshi," Jonathan said, a twinkle in his eye. "Now about that jungle planet…" 

Hoshi lashed out and punched the captain in the shoulder, just before slumping to the floor next to Malcolm and leaning her head against her husband's shoulder, still trembling with laughter. "You two are awful!" she exclaimed, beaming between the two of them. "What if someone heard?" 

Grinning, Archer held out a hand to help Malcolm and Hoshi to their feet. "I'd have them court-martialed," he said, winking. 

"Well damn," a familiar southern twang broke in, and all three inhabitants of the shuttlepod turned towards the hatch. Trip Tucker, ship's engineer, was leaning at ease against the airseal, grinning like an idiot. "And here I thought I had some good blackmail fodder on the Cap. Guess I'll have to keep it under wraps now." 

"What are you doing here, Commander?" Malcolm asked as Trip ambled into the shuttle. 

"Malcolm, fer Pete's sake, call me TRIP," the amiable engineer said with a grin. "We've been on this ship for three years together. I ain't expectin' any miracles - like, say, seein' you with a five o'clock shadow one of these days - but I'd say swapping nicknames is pretty safe, don't you think?" 

"Whatever you say, Commander Trip." 

Trip rolled his eyes. "Hopeless." 

Hoshi's soft hand rubbed Malcolm's stomach as she asked, "So what ARE you doing here, Trip? Last I heard, you'd already been over the pod's engine with at least ten fine tooth combs and found nothing wrong." 

"And you'd have heard right," Trip agreed. "I'm actually here for the cap'n." 

"What is it, Trip?" Archer asked, a little puzzled. 

"Mayweather's reading an unusual energy pattern a few light years away, Cap," the engineer replied. "Some kind of bioplasma storm. I thought you might want to check it out." 

Malcolm saw the familiar light of exploration flare up in the captain's eyes. "A few light years, huh? We're not due to our rendezvous with the _She'lac_ for a couple of days." Archer gave a crisp nod. "We'll take a look. I'm sure T'pol would love the chance to get a close-up look at something like that." 

"Her ears did look twitchier than normal, Cap," Trip agreed, eyes twinkling. "If I didn' know better, I'd have said she was actually excited." 

Archer chuckled. "Then the decision is made." He turned to Malcolm and smiled. "Good luck, Lieutenant. Fly safely." 

Malcolm bobbed his head. "Yes, sir." 

With nods to the other two crewmembers, the captain stepped out of the shuttle pod , leaving the three friends alone. 

"So, another fetch an' carry mission, huh, Mal?" Trip said, sitting on the bunk and looking around the cramped cabin. "Bet yer gettin' pretty sick of them, huh." 

"My feelings on the matter are irrelevant," Malcolm answered crisply, moving slightly away from Hoshi to adjust a gauge on the other side of the shuttle. It was an empty gesture, and he knew they'd read it as such. 

"Translated as, _Yes, Trip, I'm very sick of them and would like them to stop_," Hoshi provided, seating herself next to the engineer. 

"But with an added _However, it is my duty to do as the captain orders me to do, so I won't say a damned thing,_" Trip finished. 

"Very amusing," Malcolm muttered. 

"Malcolm, Jonathan's not only your captain," Hoshi said soothingly. "He's your friend, too. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to find someone else to make these supply runs." 

"If you'd like, I can talk to him -" Trip began. 

"No!" Malcolm cut in sharply, turning to face the two on the bunk. "Thank you, Trip, for the offer, but it won't be necessary." He sighed and leaned against the internal bulkhead. "The fact of the matter is, yes, I do feel a bit like an errand boy lately, but I don't see that there's any choice in the matter. We can't spare more than one or two crewmembers at a time for missions such as this, and I won't trust the resupplying of this ship to someone who might not be able to defend themselves or their cargo should they come under attack. I'm the clear choice." 

"But this time it can wait," Hoshi broke in. "We're due to meet up with the _She'lac_ in two days. I'm sure they'd be willing to give us some spare relays." 

"And a thrust propulsion system for torpedo tube 2? And a new power converter for Chef's kitchen?" Malcolm shook his head. "You know the Vulcans as well as all of us, Hoshi. Captain Archer doesn't want to be anymore indebted to them than is absolutely necessary." 

"Do you have an argument for EVERYTHING anyone says to you, Malcolm?" Trip asked. 

Hoshi chuckled and stood up. "I can answer that for you, Trip," she said, crossing the short distance between herself and her husband. "That's a big, resounding YES." She wrapped her arms around Malcolm's waist, and he slid his arm around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head. 

"That's why you love me," he murmured against her hair. "Because I'm too stubborn to be ignored." 

"It's one of the reasons," she said softly, a smile on her lips, as she closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his shoulder. "I can think of a few others." 

"Aw, man," Trip complained. "Are you two going to start getting all mushy? 'Cuz if you are, you oughta warn me ahead of time so I can make a hasty retreat." 

Hoshi laughed. "And here I thought you WANTED Malcolm to be more mushy." 

"There's a difference 'tween using first names and gettin' all kissy-kissy, Hoshi." Standing up, the engineer winked at them. "Have fun you two. Try not to do to much with the flight console. Last time someone did that - and I ain't namin' names - the nav controls were making like scrambled eggs for a week." With a chuckle, Trip slipped out through the hatch. 

"Do you think he was trying to tell us something?" Malcolm asked with a grin. 

"Maybe." Hoshi's eyes sparkled wickedly. "You're not scheduled to take off for three more hours, sailor boy. Make yourself comfortable." 

Malcolm grinned, and silently thanked Trip for remembering to close the hatch. 


	3. I Walk in Quiet, as You Bade

**TITLE:** HOLY ANGELS GUARD THY REST  
_CHAPTER 3: I Walk in Quiet, as You Bade _  
  
**AUTHOR:** MNEMOSYNE  
**RATING:** R, for violence and some language  
**CATEGORY:** Angst, Drama, Romance, Action, Deathfic  
**CODES:** R/S (heavy on the R) with touches of everyone  
**IMPORTANT: Starting with this chapter, we begin to get into the gore that warranted an R rating for this story. I don't think it's very bad, but then, I'm not everyone. So be forewarned! Hopefully we'll all make it through unscathed. :D**

  


* * *

  
  
B Deck was quiet as a tomb, and the air felt rank and stale. That was more a result of the utter stillness of the air than any fault of the environmental systems, but it made no difference to Malcolm as he dropped from the ceiling onto the soft beige carpet of the corridor. Aboard _Enterprise_, there would be sound here regardless of the time of day; people laughing together, having quiet conversations as they made their way to their posts with every shift change. 

The dead air was almost as unnerving as the blood spattered in a V-pattern along the bulkhead to his left, and the sallow gray body from which it had come. 

//Bloody hell,// the armory officer allowed himself to think, before quickly snapping into regimental mode and surveying the situation. Kneeling beside the fallen crewman - the uniform identified him as an ensign in the engineering department - Malcolm made a quick diagnosis of the cause of death. A raw, angry red hole in his temple was obviously the culprit. Short range contact with a powerful energy weapon, judging by the charring around the edges of the wound, and the rapidity with which it had cauterized. 

The blood on the wall appeared to be alone - only a very small puddle had formed and dried beneath the corpse. //Must have sprayed out immediately after the shot,// Malcolm deduced, forcing himself to be clinical despite the fact that he knew this young man's name: Ensign Grady Marylebone. The blood and horror of his death, and the unnatural gray pallor of his skin, had made him nearly unrecognizable at first glance. 

"Rest easy, Ensign," Malcolm murmured, passing a hand over the dead man's eyes to close them. They seemed haunted, as though the ensign knew something he desperately wanted to divulge, but couldn't voice through cold, blue lips. 

//Like who killed him,// Malcolm thought wryly, then looked up to gaze down the corridor. It curved away around the corner in both directions, leaving the armory officer feeling uneasy and exposed. Standing slowly, he pressed against the wall of the hall across from Marylebone's body. Gripping his phase pistol in a white-knuckled fist, he slowly inched forward. 

  


*******************************

  
After checking the first three cabins he came across, Malcolm came to a conclusion: the crew was not here, and if he wanted to find them, it was time to strategize. 

Each deserted cabin felt the same as he keyed in his security override and peered inside. They seemed frozen in time, as though they'd been abandoned in haste, but with the full intention of a quick return. In one of the rooms, a half-eaten plate of Chef's lasagna was holding open the pages of a leather-bound copy of "War of the Worlds." In another, the bunk was tousled and unmade, as though whoever had lived there had gotten out of bed and disappeared. In the third cabin he entered - eeriest of all - soft, reedy music was playing in a never-ending loop. 

On a starship of this sort, people did not just disappear. But it seemed, for all intents and purposes, that that was precisely what the crew of the _Enterprise_ had done. 

"They can't just go away," Malcolm muttered in frustration as he paused to sit in the third cabin and tried to collect his thoughts. "They have to be SOMEWHERE." Even if they'd been ejected into space, there would have been SOME sign. He would have seen something - a body, a piece of debris. SOMETHING. 

"It's like the _Mary Celeste_," he murmured, looking around the empty crew quarters. The same reedy song finished playing, then started up again. "Even the ghosts are missing." 

It was as he sat there, in the missing crewmember's cabin, that the lights suddenly flickered. 

His head snapped up immediately, and he fixed the nearest light fixture with a piercing gaze, willing it to dim again. It stubbornly refused, and burned brightly as ever. But it made no matter - Malcolm had his target. 

"Engineering," he murmured, and all but bolted for the door. 


	4. And Smother My Breath So You May Rest

**TITLE:** HOLY ANGELS GUARD THY REST  
_CHAPTER 4: And Smother My Breath So You May Rest_  
  
**AUTHOR:** MNEMOSYNE  
**RATING:** R, for violence and some language  
**CATEGORY:** Angst, Drama, Romance, Action, Deathfic  
**CODES:** R/S (heavy on the R) with touches of everyone  


  
  


* * *

  
**FIVE DAYS EARLIER**

  
_**CRASH!** _

"Bloody-!" Malcolm yelped as he stumbled out of Chef's kitchen, arms held up to protect himself. "Chef, it's only a glorified toaster! Can't it wait?" 

A well-aimed spatula narrowly missing his head was all the answer he needed. 

"Fine, fine!" he said hurriedly. "I'll inform the captain!" 

Trip Tucker was leaning against a table in the Mess Hall as Malcolm rushed away from the kitchen. The engineer looked just as wild-eyed as Malcolm was feeling. "D'you get the wooden spoon treatment, too?" he asked. 

"Spatula, actually." Malcolm ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "I don't understand it. The power converter on the UltraToast shorted, and he makes it seem like Armageddon itself is upon us." 

"I know," Trip agreed, nodding. "He called me in to try and DUCK!" 

Malcolm frowned. "Duck?" 

Trip grabbed his shoulder and yanked him down, just in time to miss being hit by another well-aimed kitchen utensil; this time, an industrial strength egg whisk. 

"I think he heard yer Armageddon comment," Trip whispered as they crouched beneath the edge of the table. 

"So it would seem." Malcolm rolled his eyes. "This is ridiculous, Trip. We're cowering like a couple of schoolboys." 

"Chef's powerful proud of his kitchen, Mal." 

"He's assaulting senior officers!" 

"Art doesn't answer to an officer." 

"Commander, he's a CHEF. He cooks FOOD, not art." 

"RUN!" 

Malcolm just had time to register that Trip was dragging him bodily towards the door before he was hit full on with something gooey, yellow and very, very cold. 

"What-! Well, I never-!" he sputtered as Trip hauled him into the corridor and they collapsed together against the wall. "What did he hit me with!" For a moment, Malcolm was terrified that the chef might have hit him with some sort of chemical weapon. 

Trip glared at him. "It's tapioca pudding, ya moron." The engineer reached around and smacked Malcolm across the back of the head. "Next time you go sayin' Chef's food ain't art, try and do it when he AIN'T within strikin' distance, all right?" Trip made a face and wiped his hands on the legs of his uniform. "Now I've gotta go change. Ya got puddin' all over me, you British nit." 

Malcolm sniffed indignantly, but the effect was grossly diminished by the fact that he was covered head to toe in tapioca. "Speaking as a human shield, I don't think I feel much sympathy." 

"Hardy. Har. Har." 

"What in God's name happened to YOU two?" 

Malcolm blushed bright red beneath his layer of pudding, and he could see that Trip was flushing a little as well. "Hello, luv." 

Hoshi Sato stood before the two men, arms crossed, eyebrow arched, foot tapping. "Trip, have you been getting my husband into food fights again? Because I thought we talked about this." 

Malcolm couldn't resist a snicker at Trip's dumbstruck expression. "Huh?" the engineer said. "Wha'? No! It was his fault, Hoshi!" Malcolm rolled his eyes as Trip pointed at him. "He made Chef angry!" 

Hoshi's dark, almond-shaped eyes turned towards her husband, and Malcolm swallowed, cockiness forgotten for the moment. "What did you do, Malcolm." 

He cleared his throat. "I…might have said…Chef's food wasn't art." 

Hoshi's eyes widened. "Are you CRAZY? I'm surprised he didn't douse you in pickle juice for that!" 

"He also said Chef was overreacting about the UltraToast shortin' out," Trip said smugly. Malcolm silently cursed the man. 

Hoshi's eyes widened even further. "The UltraToast shorted out?" 

Malcolm nodded. 

Hoshi swallowed and looked nervously at the door to the Mess Hall, as though it were going to jump out and bite her. "Um….let's talk about this somewhere else." She started to hurry away. 

"Where are we going?" Malcolm called after her as he and Trip followed. 

"I'M going to find the Captain and tell him we have to make a supply run to get Chef a new power converter," she replied. 

"Hoshi, I've been trying for a month to get an upgrade on the propulsion system for torpedo tube two," Malcolm said rationally. "Do you really think the captain will go out of his way just to repair a puffed up toaster?" 

Hoshi and Trip both winced. "Don't SAY that so loudly!" Hoshi hissed, looking anxiously over her shoulder. "Malcolm, I love you, but sometimes you can be so adorably clueless." 

The armory officer chose to ignore that. "Still, I don't understand how you think we'll be able to get Captain Archer-" 

"I never said anything about we, Malcolm." 

Malcolm frowned. "But, Trip and I-" 

"Correction," Hoshi cut in. "Trip and **I** will go to the captain." 

"What about me?" Malcolm asked, more than a little miffed. 

Hoshi laughed and stopped. "YOU are going back to our cabin and changing your uniform," she said with an affectionate smile. Running the tip of her index finger down his chest, she brought it to her mouth and licked it. "Mmm, pudding," she teased, and winked at him. 

Malcolm blushed. She was the only person he'd ever known who could make him blush so easily. "Ah. Right. Tapioca." 

Trip repeated Hoshi's action, this time sampling some of the gooey substance off the lieutenant's sleeve. "Mmm-mm!" he enthused. "Damn, Malcolm. That was a good batch, and Chef went and wasted it on you. That's a cryin' shame." He started to reach out again, but Malcolm smacked his hand away. 

"Yes, yes, you two, that's enough!" he snapped. "I'm not a snack bar, thank you very much." Stiffening his back, he nodded to them. "You two go see the Captain, and I'll go change into something more befitting an officer." 

"Oatmeal cookies?" Trip asked. 

Malcolm gave him a withering glance. "To quote you so recently, Commander: Hardy. Har. Har." 

Hoshi laughed and leaned forward to peck her husband on the cheek. "Go on," she said with a smile. "Trip and I had better get to the Captain before he goes to Chef and asks for poached eggs on toast. That won't be a pretty sight." 

The three of them shuddered in unison. 

"I'll see you later," Hoshi whispered near his ear, then led Trip away to find Captain Archer. 

Malcolm sighed and watched them go, then looked down at himself. After a second, he took a sample of the pudding from his mid-torso and brought it to his lips. "Hmm," he said approvingly. "Quite nice." 

He began to stride purposefully down the corridor, headed for the cabin he shared with Hoshi, but quickly realized it was impossible to stride purposefully when one was covered head to toe with pudding. So he changed midstride and chose, instead, to AMBLE purposefully, forcing himself to resist the urge to snack on his uniform along the way. 


	5. Tread Softly: This is Hallowed Ground

**TITLE:** HOLY ANGELS GUARD THY REST  
_CHAPTER 5: Tread Softly - This is Hallowed Ground_  
  
**AUTHOR:** MNEMOSYNE  
**RATING:** R, for violence and some language  
**CATEGORY:** Angst, Drama, Romance, Action, Deathfic  
**CODES:** R/S (heavy on the R) with touches of everyone  


  
  


* * *

  
Though every nerve in Malcolm's body was screaming at him to run to Engineering fast as a racehorse and rescue the crew, the tactical officer knew better than to throw himself into a potentially dangerous situation unarmed. His puny phase pistol seemed pathetically small in his vice-like grip, and judging by the wound in Marylebone's temple, the perpetrators were obviously well-armed with extremely powerful weapons - probably modified variations on a phase rifle. 

The obvious place to re-equip himself was the Armory, and that was precisely why he had chosen to stay away from there. Any alien invader with half a working brain cell would realize that the Armory would be his first stop upon arrival, and would have taken steps to either keep him away or else kill him once he got there. So it was with careful footsteps and a racing heart that he continued to edge his way along the B Deck corridor until he stopped in front of a familiar door. 

It was a door like any other on the ship, but with special significance for Malcolm - this was the cabin he had shared for a year and three months (going on four) with his wife, Hoshi. They had moved in shortly after the wedding, when it became obvious that sharing one of the smaller crew quarters - "economy class" as Hoshi called them - was going to be impossible. It was a double cabin, meant to be shared by two crewmen, and so there was two of everything - two closets, two dressers, two desks, two beds. "The closets and dressers we can live with," Hoshi had told him with a twinkling eye. "But I think we need to remedy the bed situation, don't you?" 

He had whole-heartedly agreed. 

So they had roped Trip in to help them tear the bunks out of the walls and jury rig them together to form one large, full-sized bed. This had left an unnatural, gaping hole in one wall, and Malcolm had filled it with a heavy, metal strongbox, locked tight with a combination latch. 

It was for that strongbox that he was here now. 

Casting his eyes up and down the empty corridor, he tapped in the entry code and the door swished open. He wasn't aware that he was holding his breath until he stepped inside and looked around. A small part of him, he realized, had been hoping Hoshi would be here; that somehow she would have escaped the fate that had befallen the rest of the crew. But she was nowhere to be seen; absent as snow on the hottest day of July. 

But there was a light flashing on his desktop comm console. 

Malcolm Reed had a message. 

  
******************* 

  
Forcing his hands not to tremble, Malcolm reached for the PLAY button on the comm console. It seemed too much to hope that here - in this warm, familiar room that smelled of orange pekoe and his wife - he might find some message from the missing crew. Perhaps even a message from Hoshi herself. 

//No hopes, old boy,// he told himself firmly, and pressed the button. 

The instant her face appeared on the screen, his heart lodged in his throat; initially from joy, then fear. Hoshi's eyes were a study in terror. He had not seen her so afraid since her first year aboard the _Enterprise_. Her hair was tousled and there was a smudge of dirt on her brow. She'd obviously been clambering through some dirty places; probably the self-same maintenance shafts Malcolm had hauled himself through just a short time earlier. People were moving behind her - he recognized Trip's fluid gate, Mayweather's broad shoulders, and a few other people as well. 

"Malcolm," she said, voice shaking, and he forced himself not to blink as he watched her and listened. "I don't know if you'll get this, but I have to try." She swallowed and her eyes darted nervously to the door off screen, then back. "We don't have time. They're coming and we have to hide. But I had to let you know, Malcolm, in case you come back and find everything … gone." She swallowed, and Malcolm found himself swallowing with her. 

"We tried, Malcolm," she said, and though her voice was breaking, he could hear a hint of the strong woman she'd become peeking through. "I needed you to know that we tried to fight them, in case you come back and find out we lost. God…" She ran a frustrated hand over her dark hair, which was coming loose from it's compulsory ponytail and hung in a ragged fringe around her harried face. "I can't believe this. I can't believe I'm leaving you a goodbye message, when just a few days ago I was kissing you in Shuttlepod One." 

She reached out a hand and touched the screen. Before he could stop himself, Malcolm reached out and touched the screen in return. He tried not to imagine the screen was warm and alive beneath his fingertips, where they touched hers. 

"Malcolm, if you get this, you have to leave," Hoshi continued, desperation giving her voice a breathless, cracked sound. "Please, Malcolm. Just forget chivalry and honor and all that military mumbo jumbo and get in the shuttle again and LEAVE. Go get help if you think you can, but don't stay here." 

Tears were in her dark eyes. "Malcolm, I know you, and I know what you'll do. I know you'll want to stay, and I know nothing I can say will change your mind." Swallowing again, she pressed the palm of her hand against the screen. Malcolm followed suit. "So if you're going to stay, at least listen to me." Her fingers curled against the screen. 

"Don't trust, Malcolm," she whispered. "Don't trust anything or anyone. Don't trust your own shadow; it might not be yours." She shook her head and slowly drew her hand away from the screen. The tactical officer felt a tangible stab of pain across his chest as she did. 

"We're going to hide now," she said, voice stronger, as she wiped her eyes with trembling hands. "I can't tell you where, in case…THEY find this before you. I know you can find us. I trust you, Malcolm." She smiled shakily. "I think you're the only person I can still trust." 

"Hoshi," he whispered, palm still splayed against the screen. 

She had tilted her head to the side as someone behind her said something. When she looked back to the screen again, tension had flooded back into her face, replacing the affection she'd held a moment earlier. "I have to leave now, Malcolm." Behind her, the lieutenant could see the others in the room scrambling awkwardly back into the maintenance shaft in the ceiling. "We came here to get some weapons." She smiled again, an odd juxtaposition against the severity of the situation. "Don't worry; we left you something special." 

A sharp voice behind her made Hoshi look over her shoulder, and Malcolm's fingers twitched against the screen, desperate to see her eyes again. "Oh, God," she stammered, looking back at the screen. "Oh, God, Malcolm, they're coming. I have to go!" She hesitated for a moment. 

"Go…!" he whispered hoarsely, pressing his hand against the screen. "Run!" 

She stared at him through the recorded connection, then bent forward swiftly and pressed a brief kiss to the monitor. "Emma's safe," she whispered. "You keep safe, Malcolm. I love you." Her hand came down in a swift motion, and the message blinked off. 

For a moment, Malcolm sat in silence. 

"I love you, too…" he finally murmured. 

For a while, he debated ever moving again. What was one more dead man aboard a dead ship, floating dead in space? Perhaps he could give Ensign Marylebone some company. 

After a while, however, he began to move. His fingers were the first to twitch, curling into a slow fist against the comm screen. Then, very slowly, he stood, and looked to the left. 

The lockbox stood open and empty in its recess. 

_Don't worry; we left you something special._

His eyes slowly roved around the room, trying to spy anything out of place - a clue to where Hoshi had left his surprise. 

It struck him quite suddenly, and his eyes snapped to the right. 

_Emma's safe. You keep safe, Malcolm._

With long, quick strides, Malcolm crossed the room. 

Emma Sora Sato-Reed had been born eight months ago, while _Enterprise_ sampled matter from the corona of a hot blue star. She had quickly been adopted by the entire crew, and Hoshi liked to joke that the baby had more aunts and uncles than a golf ball had dimples. "She'll be spoiled rotten if we aren't careful," his wife would warn playfully, usually while Emma was plying her charms on one of her innumerable "relatives." 

"We'll just have to make sure that for everything they buy her, we get her something even more special," he'd invariably respond. "I've always said, in matters of childrearing, it's always better to have the best bribe." This would make Hoshi laugh, which was precisely why Malcolm always said it. 

_Something even more special_

He stopped beside Emma's crib, which was positioned behind a rice paper screen etched with whimsical patterns in a corner of the cabin. The crib itself was a frilly affair, done out in heaps of lace and hand-sewn bolsters and cushions; just a few of the "spoiled rotten" gifts Emma had received even before she was born. A few stuffed animals were lying in oddly forlorn positions in the bottom of the crib, atop a bottom sheet that was decorated with teddy bears holding heart-shaped balloons. Mr. Buttons, Emma's favorite toy - a stuffed squirrel with a soft, plush body - was missing, presumably in hiding with the baby. A small part of his heart warmed with the knowledge that, wherever in this godforsaken ship his daughter might be, at least she had Mr. Buttons to keep her company. 

Mr. Buttons and her mother. 

He plunged a hand into the crib. After a minute of searching, he stopped and pushed his finger through an unnatural hole in the seam of the bolster on the far side of the crib. He probed a little deeper, then a little more, then finally tore the seam from corner to corner and ripped out the stuffing. 

A sleek phase rifle, outfitted with a slip-shod power booster, tumbled into the body of the crib and rattled against its ribs. 

Malcolm stared at it for a long minute, then slowly wrapped his hand around it and hefted it up and out of the baby bed. Examining the rifle with an expert eye, Malcolm nodded with satisfaction. Trip had obviously been the one to hotwire the booster to the power cartridge - the seams were almost invisible. With this, he had a fighting chance against whatever had stolen Hoshi and Emma and hidden them away like pirate treasure. 

The lights hadn't flickered again since that one time in the musical cabin, but Engineering was still Malcolm's next destination. _Never look a gift horse in the mouth, and never ignore fortuitous evidence_. That was what Professor Novelle had taught his Introductory Criminology class at Starfleet Academy, and the words had stuck with Malcolm ever since. 

"Father's coming, sweet," he murmured, and flicked his thumb against the side of the rifle. With a whine, the phase weapon powered up, the diagnostic screen of the power booster glowing like a wicked red eye and lighting Malcolm's face with an eerie scarlet glow. With a firm stride, he stalked to the door, then slipped stealthily into the corridor. 

Behind him, back in the cabin, the grate covering the maintenance shaft shook minutely as something hidden in the dark hole in the ceiling crawled away from its silent spying , leaving nothing but a faint shower of dust to show it had ever been there at all. 


	6. My Love and Life Both Slumber Here

**TITLE:** HOLY ANGELS GUARD THY REST  
_CHAPTER 6: My Love and Life Both Slumber Here_  
  
**AUTHOR:** MNEMOSYNE  
**RATING:** R, for violence and some language  
**CATEGORY:** Angst, Drama, Romance, Action, Deathfic  
**CODES:** R/S (heavy on the R) with touches of everyone  


  
  


* * *

  
**EIGHT MONTHS EARLIER**

  
_"_Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear Emmm-maaaa! Happy Birthday to you!_" _

Hoshi laughed as Malcolm helped her through the door of their cabin. "Travis, her birthday was three days ago," she said with an impish grin, gazing down into her newborn daughter's red face. "Either you're three days late, or a year early." 

Ensign Travis Mayweather beamed from the doorway. "Better late than never," he enthused. "Isn't that right, sir?" 

"Never a truer word was said, Ensign," Malcolm agreed, easing his wife and sleeping daughter down into a sitting position on the bed. 

"Oh, shush," Hoshi teased, and kissed him on the nose. Malcolm nearly melted, then remembered Travis was still in the doorway, and kept himself in check. 

"Thank you, Ensign," he said, standing and turning around to address Mayweather. "If you don't mind, I think Hoshi should rest now." 

"Sure thing, Lieutenant," Travis answered, still grinning from ear to ear. "Here you go." He held out a simple black gym bag and offered it to Malcolm through the door. 

"Thank you, Ensign." Malcolm took it - Hoshi's overnight bag; she'd insisted on having one, even though she'd only been in Sickbay and could easily have had anything she needed brought to her. She said it was a quirk of impending motherhood: some women ate weird foods, and others had mood swings. Hoshi organized. 

"You're welcome, Sir." Still grinning. 

Malcolm waited a moment. "That will be all, Ensign," he finally said, trying his best to be chivalrous and accommodating. It was difficult, to say the least - he'd become very territorial around his wife ever since she'd told him she was pregnant. Now that they were finally a family (short the dog, but Porthos more than made up for that, and where Porthos failed, Trip more than sufficed), all he wanted to do was spend some time alone with the two most important women in his life. 

Provided the excitable ensign on the other side of the door ever went away. 

"If you don't mind, Sir, I've got something for Emma." 

Malcolm was just about to tell Travis that yes, he did actually mind, and would he please come back another time to share it? But before he got the chance, Hoshi piped up, "What is it, Travis?" 

"Just a little gift." Pause. "May I come in?" 

//No,// Malcolm thought. 

"Absolutely!" Hoshi exclaimed gleefully. 

Malcolm sighed. 

Travis virtually bolted through the door and sat on the bed next to Hoshi and Emma. "I saw it the last time we were at Jupiter Station, and I thought Emma - well, the baby. We didn't know it - she'd - be a girl then. Anyway, I thought your baby might like it." 

Hoshi was glowing. "What is it, Travis?" 

"Yes, what is it, Ensign?" Malcolm added, a tad snippier than he'd intended. A sharp look from Hoshi told him that she'd heard his tone as well. 

The young helmsman didn't seem to notice. "Just a little thing. Here you go." 

He'd had one hand behind his back ever since volunteering to help Malcolm and Hoshi return to their cabin from Sickbay. Bringing it forward now, he held out what looked like a large, pale orange marshmallow. With a tail. 

Hoshi melted. "Oh, Travis. It's adorable!" 

Malcolm blinked. "What is it?" 

"It's a squirrel, Sir," Travis said, grinning as Hoshi took the plush toy and brushed it gently against Emma's pudgy cheek. "They're a small mammal that lives in the forest. They eat acorns and birdseed, and -" 

"Yes, I know what a squirrel is, Ensign, thank you," Malcolm cut him off. 

"Oh! Malcolm, look!" Hoshi held up the soft, squishy toy. "It's wearing little dungarees! Do you see?" She squished the toy at him. Its lower half did, indeed, seem to be colored a faint shade of blue in what passed as a dungaree design. "It even has little fake buttons! Isn't it the cutest thing you've ever seen?" 

"Enchanting," he said with a smile that he hoped didn't look forced. It WAS a cute little thing. 

"Do you think Emma likes it?" Travis asked hopefully. 

"She loves it!" Hoshi replied enthusiastically. "Don't you, Emmy? Don't you love Mr. Buttons?" 

Emma slept on. 

"Sleeps like a log," Travis said with a smile. "Hard to believe she belongs to you two." He suddenly looked stricken. "I mean… Not that you two have finicky sleeping patterns. It's just… Well, Hoshi, you hear EVERYTHING. And Sir, you… Well, you hear everything, too. And… It's just-" 

Hoshi laughed again. "It's okay, Travis. We understand." Smiling, she set down the squirrel and gently squeezed Mayweather's hand. "Thank you. She'll love it." 

Travis relaxed visibly. "I hope so." 

Malcolm decided now was as good a time as any to get the young man to go AWAY, and delicately cleared his throat. "Thank you, Ensign," he said. "Now, if you don't mind…?" 

"What? Oh! Right!" Travis bounded to his feet. "Sorry! I just figured I-" Malcolm made a sharp motion towards the door with his head. "Never mind." Grinning, Travis gave a little wave. "Bye. Bye, Emma!" 

Hoshi made the baby's hand wave at the departing helmsman. 

"If you don't mind telling anyone who cares to hear it that we'd rather not be disturbed…?" Malcolm mentioned as he guided Travis out the door. 

"Sure thing, Sir." The younger man paused, then held out his hand. "Congratulations, Sir." 

Malcolm blinked, then took Travis' hand. "Thank you, Ensign." 

With a nod, Travis jogged off down the corridor. 

Malcolm breathed a sigh of relief and turned back into the room. "I thought he'd never leave," he said quietly as he crossed the room and sat next to his wife. 

Hoshi was rocking gently, idly playing with one of Emma's small hands. "I'm surprised he didn't leave sooner. The cold radiating off your shoulder was in the negative Kelvins." She looked up from their daughter's face to smile at him. "You didn't have to chase him off so quickly. I'm not THAT tired." 

Malcolm smiled. "I have a confession to make." 

"Mmm?" 

"I didn't shoo him away for you." 

She arched an eyebrow. "Oh?" 

Malcolm shrugged. "I did it for me," he said, sliding a hand up her back and toying with her long, raven hair. "I just wanted a little time alone with my beloved wife and dearest daughter." 

"Awww," Hoshi replied, a slow smile creeping across her face. "You big softie." 

"Shush," Malcolm hushed her, wrapping his arm around her waist and tugging her closer. "Someone might hear you." 

Hoshi chuckled and rested her head on his shoulder. "Heaven forbid." 

"Indeed." 

"Mmm…" She snuggled nearer to him, closing her eyes. "You don't have to worry, though. You'll have plenty of time alone with us, Malcolm. Neither of us is going anywhere." 

"Shhh, I know," he said softly, stroking her hair and gazing down at his sleeping daughter. "I know." 

It didn't take long before he felt Hoshi's breathing even out, and felt her body loosen beside him. He smiled. "Not that tired, eh?" he murmured, slowly easing his wife down onto the bed. Carefully, he lifted Emma from the circle of her arms. Hoshi immediately curled up, mumbling something and wiggling her fingers. 

Malcolm laughed softly. "Shhh, she's all right," he assured her. "She's with me." He gently pressed Mr. Buttons into Hoshi's arms to calm her, and she immediately quieted, sleeping deeply. 

Malcolm turned his attention back to Emma. "Welcome home, sweet," he whispered. Tilting his head forward, he brought her tiny hand to his lips and kissed her small fingers. She gurgled something in her sleep, wiggled a bit in his arms, then was quiet again. 

"You're perfect, sweet," he murmured. "Perfect like your mother." He paused, then chuckled. "And I think you're going to love that blasted squirrel." 

Stretching out next to Hoshi, Malcolm carefully nested Emma between their bodies. He wouldn't sleep - he didn't need it, and Heaven forbid one of them should roll onto the sleeping newborn - but he didn't want to walk away and…do something else. Not now. This moment was perfect. The calm before the storm, so to speak. They hadn't had to worry about late night feedings yet; or cholic; or teething. This moment was pure, and he wanted to remember every detail of it. From the steady rise and fall of Hoshi's breathing to the occasional wiggle of his sleeping daughter. Before either of them had come to him, he'd lived for his work. Now, he lived for them. 

And he didn't know how he could ever live without them. 


	7. If You Must Walk, Make Ne'er a Sound

**TITLE:** HOLY ANGELS GUARD THY REST  
_CHAPTER 7: If You Must Walk, Make Ne'er a Sound_  
  
**AUTHOR:** MNEMOSYNE  
**RATING:** R, for violence and some language  
**CATEGORY:** Angst, Drama, Romance, Action, Deathfic  
**CODES:** R/S (heavy on the R) with touches of everyone  


  
  


* * *

  
The corridors were empty as Malcolm made his way to Engineering, and it was that very emptiness which scared him. Surely Marylebone couldn't be the only casualty of what had afflicted the crew. Could he be blessed with such luck? 

He was a man born into a mariner family, yet he was afraid of drowning. No; Luck was not his lady, and he didn't trust her now. 

_Left, right, left, right_

He focused on his feet as he ran, to keep his mind from straying to other topics. It worked, to an extent. At least his thoughts weren't riddled with worry. 

_Left, right, left, right, corner, speed, left, right_

Hoshi was smart. She would hide herself and Emma tightly away and wait for him. 

_Left, right, left, right_

There would be problems, of course. Food, water - he hadn't seen evidence of any of that in the message she'd left him. Malcolm had given his wife enough survival training that she would have known without thinking that such basics as sustenance and shelter were necessary to survival, even aboard a starship. 

_Left, right, pause, listen, left, right, left_

Then there was Emma to consider. She was a baby, after all - not even a year old. What would she know about keeping quiet when the enemy was nearby? All she would understand was the hollow ache of an empty stomach or the tired crankiness of a day without a nap. 

_Left, right, slow, speed, left, right_

_Freeze_

He had found another body. 

It lay across the corridor in such a precise fashion, he wouldn't believe the victim had fallen naturally. This was obviously a warning, and since he seemed to be the only person moving about on the silent ship, Malcolm could only assume it was meant for him. He looked up and from side to side. 

Were they watching him? 

They. He was tired of thinking of his enemy in such an abstract way. Who WERE _They_? What had they done to the crew? WHY had they done it? What had they done that had so terrified Hoshi, yet seemed to have shed next to no blood? 

Kneeling beside the corpse, Malcolm did a cursory examination of the body. Another ensign, this time one of his own: Akira Nichols. She'd been a promising young woman - Malcolm had envisioned her quickly rising through the ranks and becoming a top notch armory officer someday. 

"No such day, Akira," he murmured, and passed a hand over her staring eyes to close them. As with Marylebone, a raw, red wound in her temple seemed to be the cause of death. Her pale, blue skin was cool to the touch - she'd been dead for quite some time. 

"Rest easy, ensign," he said softly, before standing and stepping over her to continue his trip towards Engineering. "Not much longer now." 

Instead of running again, he used the butt of his rifle to bash the grating away from a shaft in the ceiling above him. Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, he leapt up and caught the edge of the hole, then smoothly dragged himself through the hatch. As before, it was a tight fit, but he wasn't willing to risk running openly anymore; not now that someone had left a dead armory ensign as a very visible warning for him. Careful not to damage his weapon, he began to slowly, painstakingly crawl towards Engineering. 

  


* * *

  
When he was about two hundred meters away from his goal, the lights flickered again. Malcolm froze, instantly alert, trying to pinpoint any unusual noises echoing along the shaft from the warp core. Nothing - not so much as a whisper from the oxygen recyclers. Still, if the power was being tinkered with, that meant someone HAD to be in Engineering. Or at the very least, he might be able to get a pinpoint on where power was being interrupted. 

"Trip won't like the idea that someone's been fooling with his toys," Malcolm murmured as he recommenced his belly crawl. "That will make him VERY unhappy." 

Careful to keep his movements silent and slow, it took Malcolm a good twenty minutes to reach Engineering. Laying his weapon on the floor of the shaft beside him, he swallowed and peered down through the nearest access panel into the body of the engine room. The grating obscured his view, but he could still see well enough. 

The sight made him ill. 

Husks. Everywhere. Once they had been human, but he couldn't call them that now. Clawlike hands and gaping, skeletal mouths decorated brittle, mummified corpses. Dry, staring eyes seemed to pierce through the metal surrounding him, turning Malcolm's stomach to water. Cold sweat like chilled marmalade slid down his spine, pooling in the hollow between his shoulder blades. 

He had found the crew. 

Movement near the engine caught his eye, and he quickly pulled his gaze away from his study of the dead crewmembers to investigate. //Bloody hell,// he thought in disbelief. 

Trip and T'Pol were standing on the grated platform directly in front of the warp core. Or rather, T'Pol was standing. She had Trip bent backward and pinned against the engine, her powerful Vulcan strength holding the engineer in place as she kissed him for all she was worth, as though her very life depended on it. 

Before Malcolm had time to comprehend what was going on, there was a blinding flash of electric blue light, temporarily blinding him. He threw a hand up to protect his eyes, and his elbow bumped into his phase rifle. It clattered against the side of the maintenance shaft. 

He froze, willing his eyes to clear. When they finally did, he blinked and turned his attention back down through the grate. 

A pair of sharp brown eyes in an angular, pixie-like face met his gaze, so close they were almost nose to nose. 

"Bloody-!" Malcolm exclaimed, struggling to push back and away from the grate. 

"Hello, Lieutenant," T'Pol said, her breath slithering across his face. "Please join us." 

Before he could stop her, the science officer had curled her fingers around the grate and hauled it out of the ceiling. Malcolm tried to fend her off, but the cramped quarters of the maintenance shaft made such defense impossible. Her hand reached into the hole in the ceiling and took hold of his uniform. She gave a mighty heave, and with a cry of surprise Malcolm fell through the hole, landing in a tumble among the bone-dry bodies of the dead. 


	8. Lest You Should Jar Her Peaceful Ear

**TITLE:** HOLY ANGELS GUARD THY REST  
_CHAPTER 8: Lest You Should Jar Her Peaceful Ear_  
  
**AUTHOR:** MNEMOSYNE  
**RATING:** R, for violence and some language  
**CATEGORY:** Angst, Drama, Romance, Action, Deathfic  
**CODES:** R/S (heavy on the R) with touches of everyone  


  
  


* * *

  
**TEN MONTHS EARLIER**

  
_"HAPPY NEW YEAR!" _

Malcolm shielded the two fizzing champagne glasses he held to protect them from the sudden shower of confetti that rained down upon him as the room around him exploded with cheers, celebration, and the familiar husky clarion of noisemakers and party favors. The start of a new year was cause for celebration anywhere; even in the dark depths of unexplored space. 

"Happy New Year, luv," he said, loud enough to be heard over the racket, as he approached the table he and a very pregnant Hoshi were sharing during the celebration. 

She looked up and smiled. "You owe me a kiss," she told him. "Where were you ten seconds ago?" 

"Getting us some refreshment, remember?" He set one of the flute glasses in front of his wife before bending over and planting a warm, teasing kiss on her soft lips. 

Her dark eyes shone as he pulled back. "Happy New Year, Lieutenant." 

Malcolm grinned. "Likewise, Lieutenant." 

She laughed softly as he sat down, pulling his chair closer to hers and wrapping an arm around her waist. "Say that again." 

"Lieutenant." 

"Mmmm…" She rested her head on his shoulder as he rubbed her back. "This time last year I was still an Ensign." 

"Funny how a year can change people." 

"Not you." She looked up and gave him an impish smile. "You're still the same Malcolm." 

He raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps that's not a good thing," he remarked. "After all, if you're going around getting promotions, perhaps I should as well. I ought to be a Lieutenant Commander by now." 

"But then you'd be my superior again, and I'd have to walk around with my wedding band on a chain around my neck." She sat up a little and gazed into his eyes. "I like being your equal." 

Malcolm's face softened. "You were always my equal, luv," he murmured, raising a hand to brush a stray lock of hair away from her face. "You're usually my better." 

Hoshi blushed, making him smile. "Oh, shhh," she protested, embarrassed. Quickly changing the subject, she asked, "And just what are you thinking, bringing a pregnant woman champagne?" Her eyes twinkled as she lifted her glass and tapped it against his nose. 

Malcolm laughed. "I was thinking that's not champagne, dearest," he replied, wrapping his fingers loosely around her wrist and tugging her hand down, glass and all, so he could gaze at her unhindered. "It's sparkling grape juice." 

Hoshi sniffed indignantly. "Malcolm, you have to do something wrong as a husband one of these days, or I'm never going to have ANYTHING to gossip about with all my married girl friends when we get back to Earth. He snores louder than a freight train_ or _Oh, he never picks up his socks._ That sort of thing. With YOU it'd be more like, _Oh, he categorizes his socks by color and cuff design. How annoying!_" _

Laughing again, Malcolm hugged his petite wife. Her swollen belly seemed so out of kilter with her small frame, they'd been convinced at first they were having twins. Doctor Phlox had soon put them straight, telling them that they were, in fact, having a happy, healthy, bouncing baby girl. Now, seven months into the pregnancy, Hoshi's stomach seemed to make up more than half of her body. She'd never looked more beautiful. 

She was staring at him now, gaze distant, as though she were looking through his eyes and into his head. "Shilling for your thoughts, milady," he whispered, deliberately thickening his accent; she loved when he did that. 

Her smile widened. "I was thinking about physics." 

The answer was so completely outside of what Malcolm was expecting, he snorted. "What?" 

"Physics. Or rather, an article I was reading in one of my science journals." 

"I'm not sure if I should be happy or insulted. I hope it was an INTERESTING article?" 

"Very." 

"Then by all means, tell me more." 

Hoshi took a sip of her fizzy grape juice, then rested her head on his shoulder again. "It was a psychology article more than physics, to be honest," she explained. Toying with her glass, she continued, "It was a qualitative study which drew comparisons between the nucleic nature of humanity's kinship networks and the structure of micro and macro objects in the world of physics. Things as big as universes and as small as atoms." 

"Sounds fascinating." 

"Shush. I'm not done telling you about it yet." Looking up at his face, she went on. "Specifically, it talked about orbits. How in all things, there tends to be a central object surrounded by satellites of some sort. In a solar system, it would be a sun surrounded by planets. Or perhaps a planet surrounded by moons. Atoms are made of a nucleus circled by subatomic particles." 

"I'm with you so far." 

Hoshi's soft hand rested on his stomach, making slow, relaxing circles. "In the world of people, though, orbits aren't as strictly controlled. The laws of attraction are completely different. The moon circles the Earth because it's held in check by Earth's gravitational pull." She slid her hand up his chest and brushed her fingers against his jaw. "But PEOPLE stay together because they love one another, which is a much more complex and less precise explanation than gravity, unless you want to call it emotional_ gravity. But that doesn't make the bond any less strong. It's when it comes to BREAKING the bonds that the real differences present themselves." _

"How's that?" 

"Because people survive," she continued, playing with the collar of his dress uniform. "Physical objects don't." She snuggled closer to him. "If the sun were suddenly to let go of the planet's surrounding it, they'd go spiraling off into space. Perhaps they'd collide with one another - Pluto especially would be vulnerable, what with its unusual orbit, and Mars would have to worry about making it through the Asteroid Belt intact." 

"But people… Well, people are elastic. We bounce back. Once one person has released us from their emotional gravity, we flail about aimlessly for a while, but then we recover and move on. We start again. We find a new life to revolve around, or maybe WE become the sun to someone else's satellite." She closed her eyes. "If you break up with someone, or if a family member dies, the separation hurts, but you live through it. But if you split the center of an atom -" 

"The world explodes," Malcolm murmured. 

Hoshi nodded against his chest. "Exactly." 

Stroking her hair, he asked, "Why are you thinking about all this, Hoshi?" 

"Because I think they're wrong." 

Malcolm furrowed his brow. "How so?" 

Placing her fingers over his lips, she murmured, "Because if I ever lost you, I wouldn't recover." She cupped his cheek. "My world would explode." 

Malcolm closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. "Then it's a good thing you won't ever lose me," he replied softly. 

He felt her nod against him. "What about you?" she asked. "What would happen if you ever lost me?" 

Her voice sounded vulnerable, and Malcolm quickly recognized the patented Hormonal Hoshi tone. Opening his eyes again, he gazed down into her face. "Do you mean would my world explode?" 

She nodded. 

"No." 

"It wouldn't?" Her voice sounded cracked, as though she were suddenly fighting back tears. "Why not?" 

Running his fingers through her hair, he answered, "Because if I ever lost you, I wouldn't have a world left to explode." He kissed her forehead. "YOU are my world, Hoshi." He rested his hand on her belly. "You and our daughter." 

Hoshi was beaming, moment of melancholy forgotten. "Softie," she whispered against his lips. 

"Shh, someone will hear," he whispered back. 

Before she could answer, they were distracted by loud voices coming from a few tables away. Loud, familiar voices. Looking in their direction, Malcolm saw Trip and T'Pol staring one another down like a pair of Cold War super powers. 

"Aw, come on, T'Pol," Trip was arguing. "It's tradition. You can't buck tradition!" 

"It is a frivolous, antiquated, anachronistic human tradition steeped in illogical superstition," T'Pol countered coolly. "Besides, it is my understanding that the applicable holiday has already gone by." 

"My grandaddy always said that mistletoe oughta be a year round thing, like Christmas cheer and joy to the world." He gestured over their heads to a sprig of festive greenery which dangled from the ceiling of the Mess hall. 

"I am not going to kiss you," T'Pol reiterated. 

"Yes you are." 

"It would be illogical. I am your superior." 

"Only in rank, and we're off-duty. Besides, it's New Year's. Come on, T'Pol. Take one fer the team." 

Malcolm exchanged an amused look with Hoshi as T'Pol arched a classic eyebrow. "If I continue to say no, it would seem you will only continue to pester me. Therefore… I will kiss you." 

"Woo!" Trip whooped in triumph. 

"Only one," T'Pol stressed as Trip leaned in. 

"Yes, Sub-Commander," the engineer agreed. "Only one. Course… No one set a time limit, so…" 

"Comma-" T'Pol began to reply, but was cut off by Trip's lips landing firmly on hers. 

"There's something I never thought I'd see," Hoshi said softly, a huge grin plastered across her face. "Trip and T'Pol?" 

Malcolm chuckled and nestled his chin in the crook of her shoulder. "Well get a good long look," he responded with a smile. "I wish I had a camera! I doubt we'll ever see those two kissing again." 

"Not if T'Pol has anything to say about it," Hoshi agreed. 


	9. We Once Were Promised Time Eternal

**TITLE:** HOLY ANGELS GUARD THY REST  
_CHAPTER 9: We Once Were Promised Time Eternal_  
  
**AUTHOR:** MNEMOSYNE  
**RATING:** R, for violence and some language  
**CATEGORY:** Angst, Drama, Romance, Action, Deathfic  
**CODES:** R/S (heavy on the R) with touches of everyone  
**NOTES:** The chapter in which much of what you've wondered is revealed, and yet some things are still left unanswered. ;) 

  
  


* * *

  
Malcolm's fall had been cushioned by the same pile of bodies on which T'Pol was standing. With a strangled cry of revulsion, he rolled to the side and onto his feet, phase pistol at the ready, aimed at the serene science officer's head. 

"Who are you?" he snarled. 

She arched an eyebrow, in familiar fashion. "We are T'Pol." 

Malcolm snorted. "Well unless T'Pol has suddenly metamorphosed into a princess and decided to use the royal plural, I think you're lying." He shifted his hands to get a better grip on the pistol. "Now I'll ask you again: Who. Are. You?" 

_"T'Pol"_ calmly leapt down from atop the pile of bodies she'd been using as a platform, and made her way smoothly towards him. "Your weapon is not necessary," she said, her rich, alto tones somehow different - as though they echoed in her throat. "Had we wished you dead, you would be dead." 

Malcolm didn't waver his aim. "I'll keep it here, if you don't mind. And I think that's close enough." 

T'Pol stopped moving and nodded her head once. "Very well." She clasped her hands behind her back and assumed an at-ease position. "What would you know of us, Malcolm Reed?" 

"How about we start at the beginning. What in hell are you?" 

"We are the _Shoyuz'gala_." 

"Mind translating?" 

"The Amorphia." 

Malcolm squinted at her. "What do you want?" 

"What all life wants, Malcolm Reed. Food, shelter, and safety." Her clear gaze wandered to take in the entirety of Engineering. "Your ship is a good home. It provides what we need, and allows us to find more once this shell is depleted." Her eyes found his face again, and Malcolm shuddered. If eyes were windows to the soul, then T'Pol's soul had been shattered into a million pieces. "We are happy here." 

"How wonderful for you," Malcolm spat. "Sorry to say, you've outstayed your welcome." Pressing the butt of his rifle against his shoulder, he hissed, "Get out of her, and go away." 

T'Pol blinked. "Why would we do that?" 

"Because if you don't, I'm going to shoot you." 

She shook her head. "We do not want to lose this body." 

"Learn to live with disappointment." 

"You will not hurt this body. It is precious to you." 

"T'Pol would understand. She would say I was being illogical right now, allowing you to live just to rescue her." 

"You cannot rescue. You can only kill. We inhabit the husk, but we do not need it. We will find another." 

Malcolm squinted again. It was a worthless exercise to shoot T'Pol, if it didn't kill the alien inside her. Admittedly, the Thing may well have been lying, but he didn't dare take the chance. Not with thirty dead crewmen eyeing him with cold eyes dried in their sockets. "Where did you come from?" he asked instead. 

"The Void." She said it as he would say _The Earth._

"What do you mean?" he asked, annoyed. "Do you mean space?" 

A nod. 

"What kind of species are you?" There didn't seem to be any wound to T'Pol's body; no entryway for an alien to clamber inside.. Whatever was possessing her was not a creature like he had ever encountered. 

"We are the Amorphia," she replied. 

"That doesn't tell me anything," he snapped. "Be clear!" 

The Thing That Was T'Pol arched her eyebrow again. "The Amorphia live in the space between the stars. We travel on buffets of solar wind. Where that does not take us, we find husks to help us the rest of the way." 

"Stop calling us that!" Malcolm barked angrily. 

"What would you have us call you?" 

"Call us hosts, if you must call us anything." The words tasted bitter in his mouth. "You're parasites, after all. That's all you are. Filthy parasites." 

She didn't seem to see fit to answer that, and stayed silent. 

Malcolm watched her, unblinking. So they floated in space, eh? If they could survive in a vacuum then depressurizing the ship wouldn't help the situation - it would just make it worse. What about some sort of inhalant? Could he create something that would be poisonous to the aliens but wouldn't harm what was left of the crew? The bodies stacked here were too many to contemplate, but even a quick check was enough to prove to Malcolm that this wasn't the entire 83 member crew. Of the remainder, some - if not all - were bound to have been possessed by this species and would have to be… exorcised. 

Some. Not all. 

What type of creatures WERE these? Certainly not carbon-based. Not oxygen-breathers, either. Perhaps some form of intelligent energy signature? What was it that old British author had joked about once, centuries ago? Hyper intelligent shades of the color blue*? 

Whatever they were, how could he kill them? 

Suddenly, realization struck. His eyes widened for a moment as a memory of a blinding flash of electric blue light washed through his mind. "The bioplasma storm. That was you, wasn't it?" 

Another nod. 

To say he was stunned was an understatement. "But how? The _She'Lac_ would have been here no less than a day ago. They would have known something was wrong." How could these aliens work so quickly? 

"We are not impatient. We waited, though we enjoy Vulcan bodies. They are agile and strong." As if to demonstrate, T'Pol flexed her arm, splaying her long fingers. "Human bodies are less strong, but we enjoy them nonetheless." 

Malcolm felt a cold shiver, like rain on a gravestone, work through his body. "How many humans are you familiar with?" 

"Many." She smiled slightly, making the Vulcan's face all the more unfamiliar. "Your ship is the first vessel we have encountered of your species, and we are very happy. " 

He refused to rise to that bait. "Answer me this, since you're in such a chatty mood," he said instead, through gritted teeth. "There seem to be two types of body on this ship. There's your kind," he tilted his head slightly to indicate the mummified cadavers which surrounded them. "And then there's the other kind. The bloody ones." His finger slid over the rifle's trigger. "Why the difference?" 

T'Pol tilted her head. "We did not take the others. Those were made by you." 

Malcolm blinked. "What?" 

"Your people. They believe we will die if they kill the husks we inhabit. We are indestructible. Death of the host can only delay us for a short while. We will always survive." 

Malcolm's brain was swirling. "You're lying," he snarled, jamming the butt of his phase rifle even more tightly against his shoulder. "The crew would never do that." He tried to picture Hoshi putting the point of a rifle against Nichols' head and pulling the trigger. He couldn't do it - it was unthinkable. 

"Yet you are willing to do it to this husk. Are you not one of them?" 

"It's different." Hoshi didn't even like killing bugs. She was the epitome of _Wouldn't hurt a fly._

"We have known many species. All are the same. All fear us; all wish us dead. Always they turn on their own. Always we survive." T'Pol's brown eyes were so calm, it was difficult to remember it WASN'T T'Pol. "This is no different. You will kill this host, and we will survive." 

Something inside Malcolm snapped. He had never been very good at keeping his temper in check; that was why he had become a tactical officer. The chance to blow up the occasional asteroid, enemy vessel, or hostile planet more than assuaged his internal anger. Psychologists would have said he had repressed rage related to the suppression of emotions during his childhood. Malcolm would have told them all _Bollocks_ and then gone and had a good long workout on the target practice range. 

They would have all clucked their tongues and made scribbled notes on their diagnostic pads had they seen him now. 

"WHAT DO YOU WANT!" he bellowed, standing upright and advancing on T'Pol. "Just what in bloody hell do you want!" Hoshi. "Why are you here!" Hoshi. "How many more people are you going to kill before you've glutted yourself!" 

_HoshiHoshiHoshiHoshi…_

The barrel of the phase pistol stopped with a fleshy _thump!_, pressed square between the Vulcan's eyes. 

"Get off my ship," Malcolm hissed, ice blue eyes flashing. "Or I swear to God, I'll find a way to kill you, and I'll make sure it's slow." 

T'Pol studied him quietly for a moment. Then, with a speed and fluidity that was surprising even for a Vulcan, she swung her hand up, grabbed the barrel of the rifle, and pushed it aside. 

"We have been patient, Malcolm Reed," she growled, and the voice she used was no longer T'Pol's. It seemed as though a thousand voices mingled together into a single, booming sound, like the roar of a waterfall. Her hand twined in the front of his uniform, tighter than a vice grip. "We would have made you of us. But you have proved yourself an imperfect husk. So we will feed, and the problem is solved." A crackle of electric blue energy passed over her brown eyes. 

"I don't think-" he began, but was cut off by a strong hand clamping over his mouth, and an equally powerful arm binding his elbows behind his back. 

"He is ready," a voice boomed in his ear. Malcolm rolled his eyes back and to the side to see his captor. 

It was Trip. 

_We would have made you of us._

//Oh God,// Malcolm thought bitterly, remembering the kiss against the warp engine; the flash of blinding light. //Not Trip. Please, not Trip, too.// 

T'Pol moved closer. Malcolm's body tightened as her whip-thin form stopped a hairsbreadth away from him. He stared her down, refusing to let any fear show through in his gaze. 

"It is good you came," she said, that same booming waterfall voice ringing like a heavy bronze bell in his ears. "There are many of us, and we are hungry. Very hungry." She leaned forward 

Trip peeled his hand away from Malcolm's mouth. "Get away from me, you bi-!" he tried to bellow, but was cut off by the Vulcan's lips landing squarely on his. He squirmed and fought to get away, his arms flexing in Trip's grip. But the engineer had gained strength, thanks to the aliens who possessed him - escape was impossible. 

There was no warmth in T'Pol's lips. It was as if he were kissing a corpse. She levered his mouth open with her tongue. 

And slowly, deliberately, she began to suck. 

  
  
_***** A/N: Honest to goodness, these aliens are NOT based in any way on the Borg, nor are they influenced by those pesky zombie aliens from the _Andromeda_ episode "Dance of the Mayflies." To be completely honest, the idea for them comes directly from Douglas Adams, whose famous "hyper intelligent shade of the color blue" phrase from the _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ has always been one of my favorite moments from that book. _


	10. Strange How Lies Can Have Such Depth

**TITLE:** HOLY ANGELS GUARD THY REST  
_CHAPTER 10: Strange How Lies Can Have Such Depth_  
  
**AUTHOR:** MNEMOSYNE  
**RATING:** R, for violence and some language  
**CATEGORY:** Angst, Drama, Romance, Action, Deathfic  
**CODES:** R/S (heavy on the R) with touches of everyone  


  
  


* * *

  
**FIFTEEN MONTHS EARLIER**

  
  
_He sat in the dark, like a panther stalking its prey. Hawk-like blue eyes stared unmoving at the cabin door, waiting. He could be a very patient man, when events dictated. _

When the door opened, he had a moment of hesitation. She looked so happy, still laughing from some joke told to her by a passing crewmember. Soft black hair hung in waves over her shoulders and down her back; loose like he loved it. 

A green flame flared to life in his gut, and his knuckles whitened on the arms of his chair. 

"Malcolm!" Hoshi chirped excitedly, slinging herself down on their bed and beginning to unbutton her blouse. "You missed a hilarious movie! Have you ever seen _Some Like it Hot?_ It's an old black and white movie from ages ago. I don't think I've laughed that much in years!" 

He said nothing. 

"I wonder if I could talk Jonathan into staging a production of it," Hoshi prattled on, absently tossing her blouse aside and leaning back on one elbow, rubbing the back of her neck with her free hand. She laughed. "I think you and Trip would be excellent in the lead roles. You'd be a fantastic Tony Curtis." She splayed a hand against her chest and pouted her lips at him. "I, of course, would be Marilyn Monroe. Don't you think I'd look great as a blonde?" 

Still no answer. 

"Malcolm, what's up?" Hoshi asked, sitting up and giving him a puzzled look. "You haven't said two words to me. You haven't said ONE word to me." She tilted her head. "Is something wrong?" 

//Calmly,// he told himself. //Calmly.// 

"Which one is it?" he asked between gritted teeth, proud of his restraint. 

"What? Which one is what?" 

His knuckles whitened even more as he clenched his hands tighter. "Which one… is your LOVER!" he barked, pushing himself to his feet and towering over her. //Perhaps a little calmer,// he chided himself. 

Hoshi blinked up at him. "What?" 

"You heard me!" 

"My LOVER?" 

"Yes, your LOVER. As in the one you make love to every night. The one who ISN'T me!" 

Hoshi's eyes were flashing now, matching his for intensity. "You have got to be kidding me." She stood up, and though she wasn't nose to nose with him, she certainly seemed to be towering in her own right. "What the HELL makes you think I'm having an affair!" 

"Oh, let's tally the evidence, shall we?" He was warming to this argument; it had been brewing in his veins all day. Purposefully, he began to pace. "Evidence A: you spend more nights out than in." 

"Because I have FRIENDS, Malcolm. FRIENDS. So do you, if you'd just crawl out from under your rock and NOTICE them!" 

Malcolm ignored her. "Evidence B," he continued, still pacing and refusing to look at her. "We haven't made love in more than a week." 

"Because you've been doing double shifts in the Armory while Parkins is sick. You're barely coherent when you crawl into bed!" 

Malcolm snorted. "Evidence C, and the most damning of all." He strode to his dresser, opened the top drawer, and pulled out… 

….a sock. 

"This," he said, holding up the piece of clothing. "One man's sock. Bottle green. Origin unknown." 

Hoshi stared at him. "You're basing this entire thing… on a sock?" 

"An unfamiliar, hitherto unknown sock." 

"Malcolm, it's a SOCK! Have you ever heard of static cling? Perhaps it got stuck to one of our uniforms in the laundry." 

He snorted again. "A likely story." 

"It's a hell of a lot more likely than me having a torrid love affair behind your back!" Stalking across the room, Hoshi snatched the sock out of his hand and balled it up in her fist. "Where's all this jealousy coming from all of a sudden, Malcolm?" she asked, eyes and voice angry. "Because it doesn't suit you. It doesn't suit you at all." 

"I don't appreciate being cuckolded." 

"Cuck…?" Hoshi barked out a short, derisive laugh, crossing her arms and staring at him in disbelief. "Malcolm, crawl out of the Renaissance, all right? Listen to what you're saying. You're accusing me of cheating on you. YOU. My husband of… less than six months! Do you really think that little of me?" 

"Do you really think so little of ME that I wouldn't notice?" 

She threw her hands in the air. "I'm not going to do this with you, Malcolm. I'm not going to have this fight. It's ridiculous, and I'm not going to dignify it with any more of my precious time." Grabbing her blouse up off the bed, she pulled it on and began rebuttoning it. 

Malcolm felt a pang of worry stab him square in the gut, but managed to fight it down. "Where are you going?" 

She shook her head, staring down at her hands as they deftly hooked buttons through holes. "To sleep the night away in my lover's embrace." 

He wilted. "So you admit it." 

"God, Malcolm!" She looked at him, frustrated. "No, I don't mean it. I don't HAVE a lover." After a moment's hesitation, she reached out and trailed her fingers down his chest. "Except you." 

Malcolm stared down his body, watching her fingertips graze over his stomach. "Why are you with me?" he asked suddenly, voice little more than a whisper. 

"Because I love you," she murmured. "I don't need anymore reason than that." 

"You deserve better than me, Hoshi." He looked up, finding her eyes by memory. "You always have." 

She shook her head and sidled closer. "No I don't," she whispered, gazing up into his face and stroking his cheek with a tender hand. "I never want anyone else, because they aren't you, Malcolm." 

"Hoshi-" 

"Shhhh," she cut him off, and rested her fingers over his lips. A soft smile tugged at her lips. "What am I going to do with you, Malcolm Reed?" she asked, wrapping her arms loosely around his waist and rocking them gently side to side. "How am I going to make you believe that I love you?" 

He blushed. She was the only one who could make him blush like that. "I know you love me," he said sheepishly. 

"But you don't like to admit it." 

He said nothing. 

Hoshi sighed. "You're not going to lose me, Malcolm," she told him, rubbing his back. "I'm not going to run off with some dashing knight on a snow white horse. I'm not going to join the circus. I'm not going to vanish into thin air without a trace. I'm not going to leave you, Malcolm, because I don't WANT to. I LOVE you, you idiot. The sooner you get that into your thick, British skull, the sooner you can stop moping and start kissing me." 

Malcolm couldn't resist a grin. "I'm not moping," he protested, but there was no force behind the words. 

"Then why aren't you kissing me?" Hoshi teased, eyes dancing. 

He quickly solved that problem. 

* * *

Later that night, as they languished in the afterglow, Hoshi murmured against his chest, "I have something to tell you." 

"Mmmm?" he murmured sleepily, eyes half-closed, fingers idly playing with her silky hair. 

"I went to see Doctor Phlox today." 

He forced his eyes open. "Are you all right, luv?" he asked, concerned. 

She smiled up at him and nodded. "I'm fine. I just wanted to ask him a few questions." 

"Did he answer them for you?" 

"Mm-hmm." 

"Well what did he say? Don't keep me in suspense." He smiled and closed his eyes, combing his fingers deeper into her hair. 

"I'm pregnant." 

His hand froze. Slowly, he reopened his eyes, and found himself staring deeply into hers. "Come again?" he asked, breathless. 

"I'm pregnant," she repeated, a nervous smile twitching on her lips. 

Malcolm stared at her. 

Hoshi shifted uncomfortably. "Say something," she murmured, looking away. "Don't just stare at me like I'm a fish in a bowl. It's … unnerving." 

"You're pregnant," he breathed. 

"The evidence would seem to suggest that, yes." 

"Am… Am I the father?" The instant he said it, he knew it sounded wrong. 

"Of course you're the father, idiot!" she shrieked, and began hitting him with a pillow. "What kind of woman do you think I am! You think I'm having a baby with Sock Man?" 

Raising his hands to shield himself from her blows, he exclaimed, "I'm sorry! I said it wrong! I meant… I meant I'm going to be a father!" 

Her pummeling paused, and he risked a peek at her through his fingers. Thankfully, the anger that had suffused her face seemed to have ebbed away, to be replaced by soft affection. "Yes, Malcolm," she murmured, setting down her pillow. "You're going to be a father." She paused, then asked, "Are you happy?" 

The question floored him. "I… Why wouldn't I be?" 

"Well, it's… a little soon. We've barely been married a few months, and now we're already going to be par-" 

He stopped her with a kiss. She moaned with surprise, then slid her small hands up to hook over his shoulders as he gently rolled her beneath him. 

"I haven't been this happy since you said you'd marry me, luv," he whispered against her mouth, his own lips shaking. "I can't wait to be a father." 

Her beaming smile was all the prompting he needed. Covering her mouth with his, he laced their fingers together, thrilling to the tempo of their mingled pulses. If he squeezed very tightly, he could almost imagine a third beat joining in the rhythm, and making it complete. 


	11. We Bound It With a Golden Circle

**TITLE:** HOLY ANGELS GUARD THY REST  
_CHAPTER 11: We Bound It With a Golden Circle_  
  
**AUTHOR:** MNEMOSYNE  
**RATING:** R, for violence and some language  
**CATEGORY:** Angst, Drama, Romance, Action, Deathfic  
**CODES:** R/S (heavy on the R) with touches of everyone  
**NOTES:** Heavy on the exposition this chapter, but I think some things need to be cleared up finally, don't you? LOL! 

  


* * *

  
  
It felt a little bit like drowning, only much, much worse. 

Despite Trip's iron grip, Malcolm struggled to free himself from T'Pol's death kiss. The steady suction of her mouth on his was inexorably smothering him; drawing the air from his lungs, the heat from his blood, and the life - slowly, slowly - from his body. He could feel himself starting to wilt. Already, his fingers were cramping as, second by second, they began to thin. 

He was being mummified alive. 

Then, suddenly, T'Pol's lips were wrenched away from his. Malcolm gasped for air, too shocked and thankful for his sudden benefaction to take notice of what had rescued him. 

"Leave him alone!" 

His head shot up. He knew that voice. 

Two figures were wrestling on the floor amongst the corpses of the crew. One was quite obviously T'Pol, her slender legs kicking to free herself of her unknown assailant. The other was a smaller woman, dark haired, wearing a dirty Starfleet uniform and clawing for the Vulcan's eyes with very angry nails. 

"Hoshi…!" Malcolm croaked. 

She ignored him, too caught up in her battle with the Vulcan to risk answering him. "You can't have him!" she snarled, pinning T'Pol's arms to the floor and staring down into the other woman's eyes. "He's mine, do you hear me? Mine!" And she brought her fist crashing down on the Vulcan's cheek in a stunning blow, knocking the other woman unconscious. 

It wasn't until Trip released his arms that Malcolm remembered the other man. "Hoshi…!" he gasped, stumbling backward as Trip moved away, heading for the two women on the floor. "Look out…!" 

Hoshi looked up, her dark eyes flashing at the approaching engineer. "Do you want some of this too?" she asked, voice dripping with vitriol. "I have plenty to go around." 

The Thing That Was Trip looked unfazed. "You are an imperfect husk," he said, his voice booming as T'Pol's had done. "We shall feed." 

"I don't think so, buddy." Leaping to her feet, Hoshi pulled a phase pistol from a holster on her hip, aimed at the chief engineer, and fired. He dropped like a stone. 

Hoshi stepped over him and grabbed Malcolm's wrist. "Come on," she said anxiously, dragging him towards the door. "They're only unconscious. They'll wake up soon." 

"But… Trip…" 

"It was set to stun," Hoshi replied, before he could even ask his question. "We figured out that killing … the bodies doesn't kill them." She sounded like she was going to be sick as she said it. "We're just trying to buy time now till we can figure out what DOES kill them. Hurry up, come on." 

Malcolm let her pull him along. His body felt like a dead weight: lead feet filled his boots; lead hands hung at his wrists. His joints were made of balsa wood, ready to snap at any moment. Every inch of his body ached, as though he'd been put through a cider press. The ship passed by him in a blurry stream of motion. Had anyone asked him where he was, he wouldn't have known for the world. 

It wasn't until he found himself being guided down onto a soft bed that he realized Hoshi had led him to the habitation deck. "Where…?" he asked wearily, but she rested a finger over his lips. 

"Shhh, stay still," she murmured soothingly, moving her hand to the side to stroke his cheek. He forced his eyes to focus on her face. It was still smudged the way it had been in the message she'd left him. "You need to recover your strength. Let me get you some water." 

She stood and hurried to the bathroom of the unfamiliar cabin. Malcolm weakly reached after her, unwilling to let her go; but his hand quickly fell back into his lap. It took too much energy to hold it up. "How… did you find me?" he asked, voice raspy. 

"I've been watching you since you got back aboard." 

That jolted him a little. "Why-" 

"Why didn't I say anything to you?" She came back into the main cabin and knelt in front of him. "Here, drink this. Your throat must be dry as a bone." She held a plastic cup of water to his lips, and Malcolm drank gratefully. It felt like nectar as it ran down his throat. 

"I had to be sure they hadn't gotten to you," she explained softly as he drank. "I would have gone running to you in the shuttlebay, but you blew out the camera before I could." She sounded affectionately amused as she said it. "From then on, I just couldn't be sure. I needed proof." 

A piece of him twinged unhappily at the knowledge that something he had done had kept them separated for so long. He brushed her hand and the cup aside. "The others?" he asked, annoyed by the weakness of his voice. 

"Shhh, keep drinking." She tried to tilt the cup against his lips again, but he pushed her hand away, more forcefully this time. 

"Hoshi, tell me," he said, forcing his voice to be stronger. "Where are the others?" 

His wife sighed and sat back on her heels. "They're…in storage." 

He frowned. "You mean, in the storage bays?" 

"More or less." 

"Why are they there?" 

"Because they're being stored." 

Malcolm stared at her. "Oh…" he murmured. 

Hoshi looked up into his eyes. "We're going to get them out, Malcolm," she told him, her voice unusually firm. "But first, I need you healthy. Okay?" 

He nodded, perfectly willing to let her do all the thinking for a moment while he recovered his wits. "Tell me what happened," he said quietly. "I feel as though I've been dropped into a play in medias res, and nobody's bothered to tell me the plot." 

Sighing again, Hoshi nodded. "Okay," she murmured, and pulled herself up onto the bed to sit beside him. Guiding the cup to his lips again, she began to narrate. 

* * *

"When we reached the bioplasma storm after dropping you off," she began, rubbing his back as she watched him drink, "T'Pol asked to take some samples for closer study. She brought them onboard in tightly sealed containers and kept them behind a modified EMS field, to ensure safety as she ran her tests." 

"I take it things didn't go as planned." 

"No. They didn't. Somehow, some of the plasma escaped. We don't know how. The best anyone's been able to figure is that somehow, the energy signature of the creatures matches the signature of the EMS field's harmonics, and they were able to just… slide through the cracks. But we don't know. All we DO know is that they got to T'Pol first." 

"What about the _She'Lac_? Didn't they notice something was wrong?" 

"How could they? We didn't. T'Pol was acting a little strangely, but we all thought it was because she was trying to impress the other Vulcans. I'm sure the Vulcans thought she had been tainted by spending too much time with humans. Either way, they came, they visited, they inspected, and they left." She looked down and swallowed. "And that's when they started invading." 

Malcolm gazed at her profile. "What happened, Hoshi?" he murmured. 

"It was awful," she whispered, voice trembling. Looking up quickly, she met his eyes with tears brimming on her lashes. "They took over in a matter of hours, Malcolm. Not days - HOURS. Before we knew it, a third of the crew was dead, and the rest were being captured left, right and center by another third." She shook her head. "It was like a nightmare, but no one was there to wake us up." 

Malcolm wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as she cried quietly against his chest. "Luv," he murmured, stroking her hair. "It's all right. Shhhh…" 

"We tried… killing some of them," she said, voice choked with tears. A shudder ran through her body. "It was awful, Malcolm. The creatures… they'd leave, but the bodies would scream… It was like nails on a chalkboard. Just… screaming, louder and louder…" Her hands slid up to cover her ears, as if to block out the memory. "We stopped killing them when we figured out it didn't work." 

"Where are the bodies?" he asked softly, not wanting to wound her further, but not eager to step into a room unawares and trip over the cadavers of his dead crewmates. 

"There were… only a few," she said, hiccupping a little. "We put them… in their quarters." 

"Why not Nichols and Marylebone?" 

"Marylebone we had to run. More were coming - we could hear them. We had to leave him there." She looked up at his face, tears streaking her cheeks. "I put Nichols there to keep you away from Engineering." She swallowed, and cupped his cheek. "I didn't want you to see…." 

He reached up and took her hand, squeezing it soothingly. "I had to see." 

She nodded brokenly. "I know. But I was hoping… you wouldn't." 

He kissed her forehead. "I was so afraid you were one of those bodies, luv," he murmured. "I was so afraid they'd taken you." 

She wrapped her arms around his waist and held him tightly. "I'd never let them do that to me, Malcolm," she whispered fiercely. "I love you too much to die like that." 

He smiled against her hair. "Where's Emma?" 

"She's with Travis. They're both safe, don't worry." 

"I'm a father trapped on a ship that's been invaded by alien hostiles. I think I'll let myself worry a bit." 

Hoshi laughed softly, a welcome sound in the otherwise grim atmosphere of the ship. "Just trust me, they're fine," she said, sitting back and gazing into his face. 

Malcolm looked deep into her eyes. "I've missed you, Hoshi," he whispered after a moment. "So much." 

She smiled, and a pair of tears spilled down her cheeks. "I've missed you, too," she whispered hoarsely in return. 


	12. Kissed, were happy Then she left

**TITLE:** HOLY ANGELS GUARD THY REST  
_CHAPTER 12: Kissed, Were Happy - Then She Left_  
  
**AUTHOR:** MNEMOSYNE  
**RATING:** R, for violence and some language  
**CATEGORY:** Angst, Drama, Romance, Action, Deathfic  
**CODES:** R/S (heavy on the R) with touches of everyone  


  


* * *

  
  
**20 MONTHS EARLIER**

  
_"Malcolm, would ya cut it out? Yer wearin' a hole in the hull plating." _

Malcolm ignored his friend's voice. "Do you think she'll say yes, Commander?" he fretted, continuing his frenzied pacing. "What if she doesn't? What if she says no?" He froze and looked at his friend, blue eyes wide. "Dear God, Trip - what do I do if she says NO? How do you ACT in that situation!" Already he could feel himself beginning to hyperventilate. 

The pair of them were waiting in the Captain's private dining room, while outside in the main Mess Hall, almost the entire crew of the starship _Enterprise_ was gathering for what was being touted as the Wedding of the Century aboard Starfleet's flagship. Lieutenant Malcolm Reed - the incorrigible bachelor - was marrying newly promoted Lieutenant Hoshi Sato. The announcement of the engagement had sent shockwaves through the ship, when it was discovered that the lieutenant and (former) ensign had been secretly involved since Hoshi's "birthday food mission" of the previous year. The couple had hid their involvement so well, even Captain Archer had been taken aback by the announcement of their engagement. 

But now was the day of the wedding, and Malcolm was having… Not doubts. Fears. The fearless armory officer was finding himself utterly terrified by the possible outcomes facing him on this most important of days. 

"She's going to say no, Trip. I can feel it." 

"She isn't gonna say no, Malcolm." 

"You don't know that!" 

"And you KNOW she's gonna say no?" 

"I told you, I can feel it." 

"Feel it, huh?" 

"In my bones, yes." 

Trip sighed heavily and stood up from where he'd been sitting in the Captain's customary place at the head of the table. "Malcolm," he said calmly, crossing the short distance between himself and the other man. "Don't take this personal, buddy. It's fer yer own good." And without so much as a warning, he backhanded the tactical officer across the face. Hard. 

"Wha…! What was that for!" Malcolm sputtered, clutching his cheek and staring in horror at his friend. "You'll have bruised me! I'll be bruised for my wedding day!" 

"Oh, calm down, Malcolm. You'll be fine." To Malcolm's disbelief, the engineer actually looked HAPPY. "I'm just trying to snap you outta this nervous funk you've gone and gotten yerself into. Yer the only one's got any doubts about what's gonna happen when you walk out there and say yer I Do's and Amen's. Everyone else's sure as shootin' you're gonna walk outta here as Mr. Hoshi Sato." 

Malcolm stared at him for another second or two, then sighed wearily. "I know, Trip," he mumbled, slumping wearily into a chair and letting his hand fall away from his cheek to rest in his lap. He stared at the sweaty palm as he continued. "I just…can't help it." He allowed himself to smile faintly. "Nothing would make me happier than to marry her." Glancing up, he found his friend's eyes. "I never thought I'd be here, you know. In this situation. My parents never believed it either. They always depended on Madeleine to carry on the Reed legacy, I think." A soft chuckle escaped him as he looked down again. "I nearly gave Mum a heart attack when I commed home to tell her about Hoshi." 

He heard rather than saw Trip pull up a chair beside him. "But you ARE here, Mal," the engineer said encouragingly. "Don't that mean somethin'?" 

Malcolm sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Of course it does, Trip. It means the world." 

"Then why all the fuss?" 

"You wouldn't understand." 

"Try me." 

Closing his eyes, Malcolm let his head hang forward. "I keep wondering…why me? Why did she choose me, of all people. She could have had anyone she wanted. I even think she left a piece of her heart on Risa, with that chap she met while we were on shore leave." It was hard to keep the bitterness out of his tone at the thought of the passionate one-night affair she'd described to him once, during their Truth Is Everything_ phase. They'd been going through a rough patch at the time of the leave, which was the only way he could get away with the _"trawling for chicks"_ schtick he'd pulled. He would've kicked himself for doing that now. "And I wonder, why, when she has so many people who are more…in line with her…interests… Why does she choose me?" _

He could hear Trip's confused frown when the engineer replied. "Well…what do you think?" 

"Convenience." 

He was expecting his friend to respond, but the bark of laughter that accompanied his answer was a surprise. "Convenience?" 

Malcolm looked up at the obvious amusement in the engineer's tone. "Yes, convenience. We worked closely together during her self-defense and phase pistol training. And she makes no secret about being a skittish space traveler at best. She may sub-consciously be viewing me as a … protector

Trip outright laughed at that. 

"What? What is it?" Malcolm asked, slightly wounded. 

"Oh! Oh, Malcolm… Yer priceless, buddy!" The engineer wiped his teary eyes, then clapped his friend on the shoulder. "What the hell gives you the idea anythin' 'bout you is CONVENIENT? Yer probably the most INconvenient member of the entire crew!" 

Malcolm frowned. "What are you talking about?" 

"Well, 'side from bein' ornery as hell and straight-laced so's to make yer teeth itch, you … exude an … aura." 

"Aura? What kind of aura?" 

"A… standoffish … kind of … aura thingy." 

Malcolm was mortified. "I do not," he defended himself. "I'm authoritative, that's all." 

Trip blinked at him. "Sure ya are." 

"I am!" 

"Absolutely. Look, all's I'm sayin', Mal, is that if Hoshi'd wanted a marriage of convenience, she'da been hard-pressed to pick a WORSE subject than yerself. 'Specially when there's a mess o' handsome, roguish, devilishly clever fellas all over this ship who'da given their eye teeth to have a chance with her." 

Malcolm's eyes narrowed to slits. "Watch yourself, Trip. I have access to the phase cannons." 

Trip laughed. "I'm just teasin' you, Malcolm," he reassured the other man. "But you see my point. Hoshi isn't marryin' you fer lack of options, that's fer damned sure. And she ain't marryin' you cuz yer THERE. So she's gotta have another reason, right?" 

"I would agree, but your theory doesn't hold water, as I'm not entirely convinced I exude an aura." 

"Shut up and listen to me, Malcolm. Hoshi LOVES YOU. Me, the cap'n, Travis - we're her friends. We all have fun together, and we like to spend time with each other. But yer the only one who makes her eyes light up EVERY DAMN TIME you walk into the room. Even when yer havin' a fight, her eyes glow when she sees you." He smiled with genuine affection. "And don't take this personally, Mal, but I think she's the only one who EVER lights up when you walk into a room. The rest of the time, yer either eatin', sleepin', or gettin' ready to kick someone's ass, and I'm not jus' talkin' 'bout the Suliban." 

Malcolm almost blushed. Almost. "And here I thought I saw a little spark flare up in your eyes whenever you see me, Trip," he jibed, eyes twinkling. 

"Nah, that's just gas," Trip joked in return. 

Malcolm chuckled, looking down. 

A hand squeezing his shoulder brought his eyes up. "You feelin' a little better now?" Trip asked, smiling. 

Malcolm nodded. "A little, I think." He smiled. "Thank you, my friend." 

Trip raised his eyebrows. "Wow, you must be feelin' better if yer callin' me friend_." He winked. "You think yer ready to get hitched?" _

Malcolm closed his eyes, took a deep breath, released it, and opened his eyes again. "I think so. Yes. Why?" 

Trip grinned. "Cuz it's time, ya British fool." He nodded to the door, and Malcolm looked over his shoulder to see Captain Archer standing there, grinning like a proud parent. 

"On your feet, Lieutenant," the captain said, eyes sparkling. "Your bride's waiting." 

  


* * *

  
To Malcolm, the ceremony passed by as a blur, with the only clear image being Hoshi in her soft white gown, with dark brown, doe eyes shining at him through a gauzy, lace-trimmed veil. 

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…" 

//Dear Lord, please don't let me faint. It would be so ungentlemanly. I wouldn't blame her were she to walk out if I fainted.// 

"If any man or woman has cause that these two should not be married…" 

//Keep quiet, all you. Yes, that's right. Not a peep. You know I can hurt - Hold on… That's right, Tomlinson, hold your tongue. Lecherous bastard… Who invited him?// 

"Who gives this woman to be married to this man?" 

//That would be her father. Such a silly question that, especially considering he and Hoshi's mum made the trip out here just for the wedding.// 

"Do you, Malcolm - " 

//Oh, bloody hell. Here comes the important bit.// 

"- take this woman, Hoshi Sato, to be your lawfully wedded wife -" 

//I do. Remember, it's I. DO._// _

"- to have and to hold -" 

//I do I do I do I do I do I do…// 

"- For richer, for poorer -" 

//…I do I do I do I do I do … // 

"- in sickness and in health - " 

//HURRY UP!// 

"- so long as you both shall live?" 

//….// 

"Malcolm?" 

//…Oh, drat!// "I do!" //Silly bloody fool… Oh, stop sniggering, Trip!// 

"Hoshi, do you take this man, Malcolm Reed -" 

//Please say yes. Please, sweet, say yes…// 

"- to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold -" 

//Does she look like she'll say yes? I can't tell. That veil is hiding her eyes too much!// 

"- for richer, for poorer - " 

//You're a tactical officer, Reed, old boy. Use your powers of observation. Is she sweating?// 

"- in sickness and in health -" 

//I don't THINK she is. Her hands don't feel sweaty. Oh, wait, they do. No… No, that's me. Blast it!// 

" - so long as you both shall live?" 

//Pleasepleasepleaseplease…// 

"I do." 

//She smiled. She smiled when she said that. Oh, luv, you mean it…// 

"Do you have the rings?" 

//Come on, Trip. Prove yourself useful for something other than snickering like a sailor. There's a good man.// 

"Malcolm, place the ring on Hoshi's finger, and repeat after me-" 

//DON'T DROP IT!// 

"With this ring, I thee wed." 

"With this ring, I thee wed." //Thank God, got that right. I think. I did say WED, correct? Not BED, did I? Oh… hell!// 

"Hoshi, place the ring on Malcolm's finger and repeat after me-" 

//You know… that's nowhere near as tight as I thought it would be...// 

"With this ring, I thee wed." 

"With this ring, I thee wed." 

//I love you.// 

"And now, by the powers vested in me as the captain of this vessel, I hereby pronounce you man and wife. Malcolm, you may kiss the bride." 

"Better do it quick, 'fore you faint," Trip whispered in his ear, but Malcolm ignored him. 

With trembling fingers, he gently lifted Hoshi's veil, to reveal her radiant face. "Hello, Mrs. Reed," he murmured. 

Her smile was like a lighthouse beacon, beckoning him home. "Hello, Mr. Sato," she murmured in reply. 

"I love you," he whispered, leaning in and brushing his lips against hers. 

"I love you, too," she replied, and smiled against his mouth. "But someday you'll have to explain to me why you've got a red handprint on your cheek." Her eyes were sparkling. 

Malcolm groaned, but it was drowned out by the raucous cheers coming from the audience and the rush of blood in his ears as, for the very first time, Hoshi Sato-Reed kissed her husband full and crushing on the lips, and onlookers be damned. 


	13. When I Must Leave To Join Her There

**TITLE:** HOLY ANGELS GUARD THY REST  
_CHAPTER 13: When I Must Leave to Join Her There_  
  
**AUTHOR:** MNEMOSYNE  
**RATING:** R, for violence and some language  
**CATEGORY:** Angst, Drama, Romance, Action, Deathfic  
**CODES:** R/S (heavy on the R) with touches of everyone  


  


* * *

  
  
Malcolm had never felt so alive as he did right now, running down the corridor, Hoshi at his side. Seeing her again - holding her, breathing her scent - had reinvigorated his blood. This lost cause didn't seem quite so lost anymore. The ship could have been coming down around his ears, anti-matter plasma pooling in radioactive puddles around his ankles, and he would have felt ten feet tall. 

"Where are they all?" he asked as they paused and peered around a bend in the corridor. "I don't like running in the open like this." 

"It's the fastest way to travel," Hoshi reminded him. "Most of them are on the bridge, charting a course to God knows where. They swarm when they get a chance, like moths to a flame. I think it comes of having a collective conciousness." 

"Damn them," he muttered, shaking his head and placing a hand on her abdomen to stop her as he checked around another dodgy corner. "I don't like shooting at something with a thousand heads. Ten thousand is even worse." 

"Don't worry," she said, nimbly moving past him and continuing her jog down the corridor. "Now that you're here, everything's going to be fine." 

"You put an awful lot of faith in my abilities, luv." 

She came to a stop and turned to give him a dazzling grin. "You'd have me put them somewhere else?" 

Malcolm smiled a little, then chuckled. "I'll let your optimism carry us both," he said, then quickly sobered as he looked at the door which stood before them. "Here?" 

Hoshi looked at the door as well, her own face growing serious. "Here." 

Malcolm set his jaw. Reaching out, he took her hand and squeezed it. "Okay." 

She nodded and keyed the door. It opened, and they stepped inside. Immediately, Malcolm felt his stomach curdle. 

Like phosphorescent pupae, what remained of the crew of the _Enterprise_ dangled from the ceiling of storage bay one, encased in sparking, blood red EMS fields. Every few seconds, a wave of red energy would ripple over the surface of one of the cocoons, then quickly spread to the others. Inside their electromagnetic cells, the crew waited in utter stillness, frozen in static time. 

"Dear God," he breathed, clutching Hoshi's hand tighter. "Why?" 

"The larder." 

He looked at his wife, horror written across his face. "Food." 

She nodded solemnly. 

Malcolm wandered slowly forward, eyes turned upward at the crew. There was Neiman, from Engineering. And Demarco, from the Mess. And there - 

"Captain Archer," he hissed in disbelief. 

It was the captain, without a doubt. Even through the crackling electromagnetic field, Malcolm could make out his commanding officer's distinctive jaw line and broad shoulders. The captain was slumped in his stasis prison, eyes open and glassy, as though he were staring into an empty hole. 

_Where did you come from? _

The Void 

"And you brought a bit of it with you, didn't you," Malcolm muttered under his breath, still staring at the motionless figure of his superior. 

Hoshi's soft touch on his elbow brought his gaze down. "They keep them here until they need to feed," she told him quietly. "That's why the lights flicker. The EMS fields are an incredible draw on the ship's power. That's probably why we aren't traveling at warp right now. When they take down the field - or put it up, for that matter - it disrupts the power flow and makes the lights flicker." She forced a small smile. "I knew you'd go to engineering when you saw that happen. That's one of the ways I kept track of you." The smile quickly faded. "That's why I put Nichols in the corridor like that." 

He squeezed her hand. "There are gaps," he observed, gesturing to a "hole" next to the captain's cocoon, presumably where another EMS net would have held another crewmember. 

He saw Hoshi nod out of the corner of her eye. "That was … Trip," she murmured, clutching his arm tightly. 

He turned to her and held her shoulders firmly. "We'll get him back, Hoshi, I promise," he said, surprised by the stridency of his own voice. "We'll get them all back, if I have to break into Daniels' quarters and build a time machine to do it." 

"You can't bring back Nichols. Marylebone." 

Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close to his chest and rested his cheek atop her head as he stroked her hair. "Never say never, luv," he murmured, closing his eyes and rememorizing the rhythm of her breathing. 

"What happened to my realist?" 

"He went on a little vacation and came home to find his house on fire, and all that was left to him was hope." 

"And me. I'm still here, Malcolm." 

He smiled faintly. "You and hope are indistinguishable, Hoshi," he murmured against her hair. 

They stood that way for a long minute, until Malcolm forced himself to separate from her. "How often do they feed?" he asked. 

"You saw Engineering. There are thousands of them to nourish, and they've been drifting in space for a long time." Her eyes roamed over the cocoons suspended above them. "They'll be back soon, and they'll take someone else." 

Malcolm didn't like the bland acceptance in her voice. "Then we'll have to think of some way to keep them out until we can determine how best to defeat them." He started towards the door again, mind skimming over fragments of plans and snippets of ideas. "You said their harmonics were in tune with the EMS field T'Pol used. Perhaps we can turn that to our advantage." 

"Malcolm." 

He stopped and turned, a little puzzled. "Yes, luv?" 

She hadn't moved from their earlier position, and her almond eyes watched him quietly. "Kiss me?" she murmured. 

Malcolm's face softened. "Hoshi…" Everything had been so jumbled after she'd rescued him. It had not even occurred to him to kiss her. 

She crossed the floor between them and cupped his face between her palms. "I've wanted to do this since they took over," she whispered. "I've missed you so much." 

Malcolm didn't respond. Instead, he leaned his head down and covered her mouth with his own. The rest of the world seemed to fade to a shimmery black smear around them as the kiss deepened and her fingers tangled in his hair. 

It took him close to ten seconds to realize that the world WAS turning to a shimmery black smear around him, and that Hoshi's lips had suddenly turned cold against his own, as she exhaled steadily into his mouth. 

With a strangled cry, he pushed her away, stumbling backward and staring at her with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Hoshi?" he breathed, praying that she could explain everything; that this was not really happening. 

The petite woman stood still and considered him calmly. Slowly, she nodded. "Yes," Her voice deepened to an echoing boom as she said the word. "We are Hoshi." She tilted her head. "She did warn you not to trust your own shadow. We can hear the memory. You did not listen." 

Malcolm felt something inside his soul break, as crushing realization sank down on his shoulders. Now, even hope had left him. 

  
  
_Don't worry, everyone! I haven't forgotten Emma and everyone else. ;) Give me a little more time, and all will become clear. _


	14. I'll Whisper With My Final Breath

**TITLE:** HOLY ANGELS GUARD THY REST  
_CHAPTER 14: I'll Whisper With My Final Breath_  
  
**AUTHOR:** MNEMOSYNE  
**RATING:** R, for violence and some language  
**CATEGORY:** Angst, Drama, Romance, Action, Deathfic  
**CODES:** R/S (heavy on the R) with touches of everyone  


  


* * *

  
  
**APPROXIMATELY THREE YEARS EARLIER**

  
_He spent too much time with guns. It was beginning to affect his mind. _

The gym was empty, except for Malcolm Reed, some barely tested equipment, and two new phase pistols, still heavily smelling of gun oil and grease. They didn't work on the lever and pump action of projectile weapons, but Malcolm was a man who believed strongly in caring for a weapon in the old fashioned way. The personal touch made them last. 

Guns, he had decided long ago, were perfection in a small package. Guns were not the cold blooded, senseless killers so many people believed them to be. If they had one fault, it was excessive hedonism, outdone only by the self-indulgence practiced by those who wielded them. The selfish, high-living urge to mete out life and death sentences was a force as potent as alcohol, and more addictive than heroine. 

Which was why he'd become an Armory officer. Not for a free rein to strike out senselessly, but to learn the temperance necessary to become a learned man of weapons, in all their shapes and sizes, colors and smells. For a long time, his family history had consisted of men and their guns, and the women who loved them. As a child, his father's first gift to him had been a water gun and a set of HoloSoldiers. His mother had looked on with a beaming smile. His sister had been jealous. 

The gun, he decided, was perfect because it didn't feel. If it was used to kill, it didn't know what it had done. If it was used to light a fire, it didn't revel in the heat it had created. It did it's job, and that was the end of it. If left alone in a box on a shelf, it would be good as new if called upon to do its duty at some later date. 

Sometimes, he wished he had been born a gun. Guns didn't need to worry about choices - they did as they were told. Guns didn't have to choose a uniform and wear it proudly. Guns didn't have overbearing fathers and nagging mothers. Guns weren't afraid of things like riptide_ and _undertow_. And it would have been very nice, he thought, to have been put in a box high on a shelf, left to his own devices, without a care in the world or the stars above it. Very nice indeed. _

The upkeep of a gun was very simple; just a matter of keeping it free of outside pollutants so that all its gears and internal mechanics functioned smoothly. But what if the gun owner were to feed the pistol pollutants? he pondered quietly. What then? It was self-defeating to clog a weapon. 

But what if the weapon was already known to be defective? Would it really matter then? 

Perhaps he had been born a gun, he mused. Not a new and shining phase pistol, like he held now, but an antique blunderbuss with a faulty flashpan that cracked in a crisis. Broken from the beginning, ousted at the outset; a whole slew of alliterative phrases, all coming down to one conclusion. 

He was flawed merchandise, and as such, expendable. 

His parents had been furious when he joined Starfleet; father especially. But the fury had been expected. It was the utter lack of opposition after the initial rage that had been the most telling. His calling was the Royal Navy. It had been written on the roles eons before he was born, that Malcolm Reed would take to the sea as soon as he was of age. His parents should have fought tooth and nail to keep him out of the Academy. But they didn't. Which meant one of two things: either they knew it was fruitless, or they didn't really care. Malcolm was inclined to believe the latter. 

He stared at the phase pistol, and thought about being selfish. Hedonistic, like the gun itself. 

All sales are final. Faulty merchandise is unreturnable.

He wondered if his mother had ever seen his birth certificate as a binding sales receipt, and cursed it. 

The gun smelled like gun oil and grease, but it wasn't an unpleasant smell. He could take this pistol apart and rebuild it in no time, better than before; that was what he had been trained to do. It was a shame, he thought idly, that no one could do the same for him. 

It might be nice to be selfish for once. To mete out a little life and death on his own terms. Return a little faulty merchandise. 

Silently, he flicked the setting from Stun_ to _Kill_. _

"Lieutenant?" 

Looking up quickly, Malcolm found himself staring into the eyes of Ensign Hoshi Sato, the ship's communications officer. "Ensign," he said, trying to recover himself a bit. "May I help you?" 

"We have a training session, Lieutenant," she said uncomfortably. "Remember? You told me to meet you here?" 

He almost winced as he remembered. "Of course, Ensign." He surreptitiously flicked the phase pistol back to Stun_. "I apologize. I was considering some possible upgrades to the phase pistol design. I'm afraid I got a bit distracted." _

She smiled a little. "I know how that goes," she assured him. "I get that way with the UT." 

Malcolm nodded, and managed a small smile. "Okay then. Let's get started. If you'd care to pick up that weapon there?" 

He watched as the slender young woman lifted the other phase pistol, and resisted the urge to shake his head and cluck his tongue at the improper grip she used. She was just learning, after all - he couldn't fault her for form. Yet. 

"I'm warning you," she told him, "I wasn't good at the Academy, and I certainly haven't gotten any better. My aim is far from perfect." 

//I know,// he thought, watching her quietly for an indulgent moment. "Nobody's perfect, Ensign," he told her softly. "But we'll get you close." 

She smiled at him, and he felt something in his stomach light up like a candle flame. He looked at her improper grip again, and decided she was beautiful. 


	15. First Wrap Me In Her Raven Hair

**TITLE:** HOLY ANGELS GUARD THY REST  
_CHAPTER 15: "First Wrap Me In Her Raven Hair"_  
  
**AUTHOR:** MNEMOSYNE  
**RATING:** R, for violence and some language  
**CATEGORY:** Angst, Drama, Romance, Action, Deathfic  
**CODES:** R/S (heavy on the R) with touches of everyone  


  


* * *

  
  
The universe was spiraling out of control. The room was swimming before Malcolm's eyes, the cruel red light cast by the EMS fields above him making the cargo bay seem like a Halloween funhouse. The illumination poured over The Thing That Was Hoshi's face, painting her blood red. 

"No," he forced through gritted teeth. He began to shake his head; slowly at first, but then gaining speed until it felt as though his skull would fly from its perch atop his spine. "No! Not Hoshi. NOT HOSHI!" 

_Hoshi_ tilted her head. "We are Hoshi." 

"No you aren't! Stop talking like you are!" He needed to think. Needed time to clear his head. 

"We are." The Thing took a step towards him. 

Without a thought, Malcolm lifted the point of his phase rifle and aimed at The Thing's head. "Stay. Away," he hissed, too appalled at the thought of pointing a gun at his wife to think of anything more relevant to say. 

She stopped and stood still, staring at him with vacantly calm eyes. A ripple of horror ebbed through Malcolm's body as he realized that, where Hoshi's soul had seemed whole and healthy just minutes before, it had now been fractured as T'Pol's had been. A thousand different signatures struggling for dominance in her almond-shaped eyes. 

Taking a deep breath - but not lowering the rifle - he asked, "Why the ruse? Why make me believe… she was still normal?" 

She tilted her head again; he was beginning to feel like a lab rat being examined by a mad scientist. "When we took this husk-" 

"Host," Malcolm barked, voice shaking with anger. "You share one conciousness. You know I don't like when you call them _husks_." 

She nodded once, and continued. "When we took this host, we believed her to be perfect. She had use to us. Her knowledge of language exceeds even our own, though we have lived in many hosts." 

"That doesn't answer my question." 

"She was not perfect." 

Malcolm tightened his grip on the rifle. "How?" 

The Thing paused, then continued. "She continued to… want." 

"Want? What do you mean, _want_?" 

"Upon absorption into the Amorphia, hosts become dormant. They cede control to the conciousness." 

"You mean they're imprisoned inside their own minds," Malcolm growled. 

She made no comment, and continued. "This host … did not cede control. She continued to want." 

"You said that once already!" Malcolm snarled angrily. "WHAT did she want?" 

"You." 

Malcolm blinked. For a moment, all he could do was stare at the woman before him; the woman masquerading as his wife. "What… what do you mean, she wanted me?" he managed to ask. 

"This host had strong … feelings for you." She said _feelings_ as though she'd never heard it before. "We have encountered such feelings before, and have often overpowered them. But when she knew that you had returned to the ship-" 

"Wait, she KNEW?" Hopeless anger overtook him again. "When did you take her!" he barked, shaking his rifle. "Answer me, dammit!" 

Hoshi blinked calmly, unfazed by his reaction. "Shortly before your return. It was We of this host who opened the doors for your return. The host tried to fight, but we did not allow it." 

Malcolm felt his world shatter. Had he been a little sooner; had he come back just a few hours earlier… "I still don't know why you tricked me," he murmured, eyes staring through her, lost in regret. 

"The host would not desist in her attempts to regain control of its container. So a compromise was made." 

"A compromise? What sort of compromise?" 

"The host would cease her attempted sabotage, and you would be willingly brought into the Amorphia." 

Malcolm squinted his eyes. "You mean… Hoshi TOLD you to take me?" 

"That is correct." 

"I don't believe you. Hoshi would NEVER…" But he trailed off, remembering the woman who had told him, not too long ago, that she would never leave, and that she could never bear to lose him. 

"The host was given enough free rein to make you comfortable," she continued, ignoring his interruption. "When the time was right, we interceded and once again took control." 

The feeling of Hoshi's warm lips turning cold and clammy against his mouth scurried through his sensory memory. "Why should I believe you?" he growled. 

"Why would you not?" 

"Because you're telling me that the woman I love wanted me to become nothing more than a memory in the back of a shell!" He straightened his back and held the rifle tight against his shoulder. "She… would NEVER do that. No matter what she may have said once upon a time." 

The Thing seemed unfazed. "Believe what you will. The bargain was struck, and it has failed. The negotiations are over. You will join us, or we will feed." She began to walk toward him - even, measured strides. 

"No I won't," Malcolm hissed. Then, for a moment, his face softened. 

"I'm sorry, Hoshi," he whispered, and fired. 

  


* * *

  
Minutes passed like lifetimes as he knelt beside her body. The Amorphia would know what had happened - would know that he knew. They would come for him now. But he couldn't bear to leave her. 

"I meant it, Hoshi," he whispered, stroking her hair. There were no tears in his eyes - he didn't have the energy to cry. "I'll get them all back. And you. I'll get you back. I swear." 

He looked away from her face and down to his phase rifle. He didn't know when it had been set to _Stun_ rather than _Kill_ but he could only imagine Hoshi had done it, when she'd had her brief requiem of control. The Amorphia would have known - that explained why she had taken no notice of his phase pistol. Which meant that she would wake up soon, and try to take him again. And he didn't think he could shoot his wife a second time. 

Standing, he stared down at Hoshi's supine body, and began to plan. 

  


* * *

  
The universe is created of orbits. From the largest galaxy to the smallest sub-atomic particle, everything revolves around something. People revolve around people, drawn by emotional gravity. 

But energy… 

Energy is different. Nuclear energy is created by the splitting of an atom - the fracturing of one of the smallest pieces of the fabric of space, releasing some of the most powerful and most dangerous forces known to man. 

Orbits were all Malcolm thought about as he knelt in the Armory, reassembling a phase pistol, newly rewired. He thought about bioplasma, and whether it was more the bio or more the plasma. He thought about his crewmates - the thirty dead in Enginnering, the rest waiting to join them there. He thought about people, and recovery. 

And he thought about Hoshi, and hope, and worlds succumbing to The Void. 

"Destroy the brain, destroy the creature," he said softly, fingers moving reflexively over the casing of the pistol, rebuilding it, better than before. That was what he had been trained to do. "Where's the brain? Where's the center?" 

_Most of them are on the bridge, charting a course to God knows where. They swarm when they get a chance, like moths to a flame. I think it comes of having a collective conciousness._

Swarming; orbiting. Synonyms were fascinating things 

But the question became, which one held the brain? The intelligent thing to do would be to put it in the strongest person on board. The one most able to defend himself. 

That was him. No luck there. 

The next best place was to put the Center - their sun, their guiding star, their nucleus, their heart - in the most unlikely person imaginable. 

_Where's Emma? _

She's with Travis. They're both safe, don't worry. 

I'm a father trapped on a ship that's been invaded by alien hostiles. I think I'll let myself worry a bit. 

A soft laugh. _Just trust me, they're fine._

Split an atom, and the world explodes. 

"Hoshi, I wish you were here," he whispered, standing slowly and tucking the phase pistol into his holster. Slinging the phase rifle over his shoulder, he walked towards the door which would lead him to the corridor that would take him to Sickbay, then up to the Bridge. "I'll need someone to hold me when this is done." 

Then, eyes dry but heart heavy as lead in his chest, Malcolm Reed went to find The Thing That Was His Daughter. 


	16. Then Leave Us Be

**TITLE:** HOLY ANGELS GUARD THY REST  
_CHAPTER 16: "Then Leave Us Be" _  
  
**AUTHOR:** MNEMOSYNE  
**RATING:** R, for violence and some language  
**CATEGORY:** Angst, Drama, Romance, Action, Deathfic  
**CODES:** R/S (heavy on the R) with touches of everyone  


  


* * *

  
  
**THE BEGINNING**

  
_"Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, this is Ensign Hoshi Sato. She's our Communications officer. Hoshi, Malcolm is in charge of the ship's armory." _

"A pleasure to meet you, Ensign." 

"Likewise, Lieutenant." 

"Hoshi has an incredible ear for languages, Lieutenant. I'm sure you two will work well together in tactical situations." 

"I'm sure we will, sir." 

"Hoshi, let me take you to Engineering. I'd like you to meet Commander Tucker." 

"Sounds great. I'll see you soon, Lieutenant." 

"Until then, Ensign." 

Malcolm watched them walk away - his captain and the ensign. She had a mousy expression in her eyes - that one was afraid of everything. 

He was doomed. 


	17. Her, Me

**TITLE:** HOLY ANGELS GUARD THY REST  
_CHAPTER 17: "Her, Me - " _  
  
**AUTHOR:** MNEMOSYNE  
**RATING:** R, for violence and some language  
**CATEGORY:** Angst, Drama, Romance, Action, Deathfic  
**CODES:** R/S (heavy on the R) with touches of everyone  


  


* * *

  
  
_//One.//_

The turbolift whirred quietly as it winged Malcolm towards his destination. An eerie calm had settled in his gut, soothed further by his fingers as they stroked rhythmically over the casing of his modified phase pistol. He always felt calmer in the presence of weapons - they were the one thing in the universe he understood completely. 

_//Two.//_

The tell-tale slowing of the turbolift signaled that it was about to stop. Silently, Malcolm crushed himself against the wall beside the door, keeping his elbows tucked in close to his body. The phase pistol was near his eye now, held up in one loosely clenched fist; it filled the corner of his vision. When the door swished open, he didn't even hear it. A breath of air against his cheek was all the indication he needed that he had arrived. 

_//Three.//_

Without hesitation, he pitched the pistol through the door onto the bridge and pressed tighter into the rounded corner of the lift, covering his face with one arm. 

A soundless explosion; a blinding flash; silence. 

He waited a moment before uncurling from his protective posture and stepping onto the main bridge. 

It looked like a forest felled by a meteorite. Members of the crew were stretched flat out on the floor throughout the bridge, knocked unconscious by his makeshift stun grenade. Some were slumped over consoles, others piled on top of each other. Their positions all had a uniform sameness, however. Judging by the way they had fallen, they had all been facing the turbolift at the time. 

They'd been waiting for him. 

"Sorry to disappoint," he muttered, stepping over the bodies in front of the turbolift and making a beeline for Travis' console. 

The young pilot was crumpled by his station. Malcolm only allowed his gaze to linger briefly on the man before looking up at the blanket-wrapped bundle perched atop his console. 

Her eyes were closed, but he knew his daughter like he knew himself. It had been difficult, altering the pistol to be powerful enough to knock out the crew, but weak enough not to damage his daughter. Difficult, but not impossible. Weapons were is forte; each challenge was a new chance to prove himself. 

Calmly, he shook a hypospray down out of his sleeve and held it tightly. His hands were remarkably dry. Very slowly, he reached forward and pressed the hypospray gently - very, very gently - to his daughter's arm. Memories passed through his mind; of Doctor Phlox vaccinating Emma, and how worried Malcolm and Hoshi had been. "Never to fear, you two," the Denobulan had said with a broad smile. "A hypospray is as harmless as water to a baby, when used properly." 

"Do you have any evidence to back that up?" Malcolm had responded. Water, after all, was far from safe. 

"Certainly, certainly," Phlox had replied, and handed the nervous parents a PADD entitled _So Your Baby's Being Vaccinated, by Phlox._ He had obviously been expecting their worry. "Read that, and all your fears will be laid to rest, I assure you. See, I've even included a schematic of how I configure the hypospray specifically for small children of the human variety. I knew that would appeal to you, Mr. Reed. No worries, now. No worries at all." 

//No worries at all,// Malcolm repeated silently to himself as he listened to the hiss of the hypo, then pulled his hand away. 

After a moment, the little girl's eyes fluttered open, and Malcolm's world tilted on its axis. 

The cherubic face was the same. And he recognized the soft, hand-crocheted afghan Hoshi's grandmother had sent them as a baby shower gift, complete with embroidered stars and a monogram that read _Emma Sora._ Malcolm remembered Hoshi joking that their daughter's name sounded like a cookie. "She IS awfully sweet," Malcolm had teased back, and Hoshi had laughed. 

That was where the similarities stopped. 

His daughter's almond-shaped eyes were placid as she studied him, in the same detached way T'Pol had stared at him in Engineering, and Hoshi in the storage bay. Only now, instead of the fractured flurry of thousands of souls, the baby's eyes shone - honestly glowed - with the awesome power of one collective mind. The warm brown irises Malcolm had cherished were replaced with violet ones, and as he watched, he saw a ripple of ice-white energy pass over them, before disappearing out the corner of her eye. 

He had found The Center. 

His body was running on auto-pilot as, slowly, he raised his phase rifle. Positioning the butt of the rifle against his shoulder, he calmly aimed the weapon at the baby's head. "I'm here to kill you," he said quietly. "I want you to understand that. I boarded that turbolift, built that grenade, came to this bridge, and aimed this rifle, with no other intention than to kill you." 

She didn't even blink as she watched him. It was unnatural for his daughter to be this quiet for this long - she was usually such an animated child. 

"I know all about you," he went on. "I know what you are. You're the middle of it all. You're their nexus - the North for their compass. Without you, they fall apart. Without you, they explode." He tightened his grip on the rifle. "That's why you didn't leave with the _She'Lac_. They - the Amorphia - can't spread themselves too thin, now can they? They have to cluster around YOU. T'Pol had already been taken - it was easiest to stay here. Isn't that the truth? Isn't it!" 

Nothing. 

Malcolm took a step closer and tilted his aim down, so that the rifle was almost touching Emma's chest. "I thought it would be easy," he continued, even softer than before. "I thought, if I could do it fast enough, it would be over and the end would come." He tilted his head, still keeping the eye contact between them. "I don't know why I woke you up. It would have been easier to do this if you had been asleep." 

She blinked slowly, then continued staring at him. 

Malcolm felt his will beginning to falter. Somewhere in that shell, hidden behind The Thing that was controlling his daughter, Emma was watching him. His daughter was watching her father threaten to kill her. She was smelling the gun grease and oil, and the ozone that lingered in the air from the stun grenade. Inside that body, his daughter was terrified. Of him. 

He knew now why he had revived her. 

The rifle slowly dropped away, until it dangled limply by his side, held in only the loosest of grips. A piece of his heart fractured, and he felt the pain lance through his body like a knife. 

"I can't do it," he whispered, and stared into The Center's eyes. He took a shuddering breath, then continued. "I want to be with my family again." 

Emma tilted her head a fraction of a degree. 

Malcolm nodded slowly. "Take me," he murmured. 

  


* * *

  
The seconds ticked by like centuries as he bent forward over his daughter and stared into her violet eyes. He could see The Thing watching him, weighting his intentions. It didn't matter now. They would take him, and finally all these decisions - these worries, these fears - would be out of his hands. Someone else could save the day. He let her see that in his eyes; let her see his broken soul. 

Gently, as though he were wishing her good night and sweet dreams, he kissed his daughter lightly on the lips. 

A freight train barreled through his head and roared in his ears. Blinding flashes of blue, white and violet mottled his vision. Every muscle and tendon in his body stood out in sharp relief. He wanted to scream with the pain, but he couldn't move, as The Center poured out of his daughter and filled his mind; leaving the weaker for the stronger. The defenseless for the defender. Malcolm could feel it shoving him mercilessly down into a gaping pit of oblivion. 

The Void. 

The transfer only took a few seconds, though it felt like millenia. With a cry, Malcolm was released, and he stumbled backwards, hand pressed to his temple as his body fought to adjust to its new inhabitants. "Oh! Oh… God!" he cried, pounding the heel of his hand against his forehead, as though to dislodge the creature that now held roost there. "I… God!" 

The bridge was spinning beneath his feet. Everything was swimming before his eyes, twirling like a dervish. He struggled for breath as the action of his lungs was slowly taken from him, controlled by the creature that inhabited his body. The steady rhythm of his heart was also receding from his grasp. With what remained of his self-control, Malcolm swung his head up and stared at the ceiling of the bridge. 

And he laughed. 

"I GOT YOU!" he bellowed. "I GOT YOU, YOU BASTARD!" 

And with a swift reflex action, he brought the barrel of his rifle to his temple and fired. 


	18. and Death

**TITLE:** HOLY ANGELS GUARD THY REST  
_EPILOGUE: "- and Death." _  
  
**AUTHOR:** MNEMOSYNE  
**RATING:** R, for violence and some language  
**CATEGORY:** Angst, Drama, Romance, Action, Deathfic  
**CODES:** R/S (heavy on the R) with touches of everyone  
**NOTES:** We have reached the finale, everyone. Thank you so much to all those who have stuck by this story from the beginning, and especially to those who have given me such wonderful feedback! Your encouragement and kind words were what kept me going with this, even at times when I feared my inspiration had been lost. Thank you so much! 

  


* * *

  
  
**TWO YEARS LATER**

  
"I brought you some orchids. Emma wanted to bring some daisies, but she ended up plucking all the petals off before we got here." Hoshi laughed softly. "For what it's worth, our daughter smells like a field of wildflowers now." 

Sighing quietly, Hoshi Sato-Reed reached out and dusted some fallen leaves away from her husband's grave marker. It would have been befitting to give him a burial in space all those years ago, but Hoshi couldn't do it. For a man who had been afraid of drowning, drifting endlessly in the vacant maw of space would have been terrifying. Jonathan had understood, and had made the long trek back to Earth for the funeral. 

That was two years ago now. But the pain was still fresh. 

Delicately, Hoshi traced her fingers through the engraved letters of his epitaph. 

_**Lieutenant Malcolm Reed**  
Armory officer of the starship _Enterprise_  
  
He walked with the stars, and he was brave,  
but above all else, he was loved_

"I miss you," she murmured, stroking the marker as though caressing his arm. "Emma misses you, too. She remembers how well you used to read her bedtime stories, with all the different voices." Smiling a little, Hoshi felt two hot tears slide down her cheeks. She ignored them. "I don't know how she remembers, but she does. I'm glad she does. " A small laugh. "She says you make Mr. Badger sound much more realistic than I do. Or _weawistic,_ as she says." 

She laughed again, then hiccupped and slumped forward, pressing her forehead against the edge of his gravestone. "Oh, God," she whispered, feeling her stomach flutter with suppressed sobs. "I promised myself I wouldn't do this this time. I PROMISED myself, Malcolm. I said I wouldn't… wouldn't cry…" 

But it was too late. The first hiccup was followed by a second, then a third, until it was all she could do to breathe through the emotion that wrapped around her lungs like a vice, squeezing the air from them in an iron fist. 

The five year mission was over. _Enterprise_ sat in dry dock, awaiting its scheduled overhaul. The last time she had spoken to Trip, it had been all he could do to keep from squealing with boyish glee at all the new gadgets and gizmos they were going to install. "A whole new version of the UT, Hosh'," he'd told her with a grin. "One that really, really works this time!" 

He'd been careful not to mention one thing about the Armory. 

At home in Portsmouth - near Malcolm's family home - propped against Hoshi's alarm clock, sat an unopened letter from Jonathan. She hadn't opened it because she knew what it would say. _Dear Hoshi, etc, etc… Please come with us, so on, so forth… Know it will be difficult, but think what you'll see…_

She also hadn't opened it because she didn't know what her answer would be. 

"I wish you were here," she whispered hoarsely, gripping the gravestone until her knuckles turned white and pressing her forehead tighter against its stony edge. "I don't know what to do, Malcolm. I can't think clearly like you could - not about this. I don't know if I can leave you." 

_I'm not going to leave you, Malcolm, because I don't WANT to. I LOVE you, you idiot_

"Emma's happy here," she went on, letting go of the headstone just long enough to wipe away her tears, which were coming slower now, but just as hot. "Your mother dotes on her. I think your father does, too. I think… I think they both have… regrets, Malcolm." She released a shuddering sigh and let go of the marker, sitting up slowly. "We all have regrets." 

They had buried him here in England because his mother had asked them to. Begged was a more fitting term; Hoshi had intended on burying him in Brazil, near the university. Or even America, in San Francisco, close to his old stomping grounds. He was a bona fide Starfleet hero - he deserved to be buried where he could be best remembered. 

It was the pain in Mrs. Reed's eyes that had changed Hoshi's mind. A lifetime of remorse and a veil of guilt. "My only son, Hoshi," the woman had pleaded with her. "Please - I never told him it in life, but I've missed him. I've missed him for far too long." 

Hoshi could tell she didn't just mean since he had joined Starfleet. 

So they'd buried him in Britain, beneath a tree that had been there for centuries and spread like an umbrella over his grave. Hoshi thought Malcolm would appreciate the grounded nature of the tree's roots, miles as it was from the ocean shore. 

"I made the bargain, Malcolm," she said suddenly as she stared at the stone. "I told the Amorphia that they could have me, as long as I could have you." Shaking her head, she looked away. "I knew you wouldn't like it. I knew you'd be disappointed with me. But I needed you, Malcolm. I didn't know what else to do. They were so strong…" She closed her eyes and hugged herself. "I think I hoped you'd find a way to rescue us." She swallowed. "But I never wanted this." 

She could remember much of her possession, thanks in part to the control they'd allowed her. Vividly she remembered how good it had felt to fight with The Thing That Was T'Pol, but how frustrating it had been to pull her punches as part of the ruse. She could also recall how sick it had made her to lure Malcolm into the kiss, and then have her frail control torn away as she was pitched once more into the empty void at the back of her mind. 

Then she remembered screaming - screaming so loud, her lungs had burned and her throat had ached. Screaming like fingernails on a chalkboard. 

Then nothing. 

Emma didn't remember anything about her time with the Amorphia. She didn't remember watching her father die, either, for which Hoshi was deeply thankful. She didn't know how she'd explain Malcolm's death to the girl when she was older; she wasn't entirely sure she could bring herself to do it. But could she let Emma learn about her father's death from a history book instead? 

"I never thought being a parent could be so confusing," she confessed, idly rearranging the orchids she'd placed in front of his grave. "Trip visits whenever he can, and so does Jonathan. Travis was here just last week - I think he sees her as the littlest sister he never had." She laughed quietly despite her tears, then sighed. "They're all going back, though. To _Enterprise._ She'll miss them. I'LL miss them." //Unless I go, too…// 

//It's too dangerous.// 

//Climbing stairs is dangerous.// 

//Not if you're careful.// 

//The same goes for space.// 

//Space killed Malcolm.// 

//Malcolm killed Malcolm.// 

"Stop!" she said aloud, trying to clear her thoughts. "Malcolm, what should I do? I don't know if I can face it again - all those worries. Those dangers. Emma's only a little girl; I don't want to leave her behind, but I don't think I could bear to take her with me. But what else can I do? Stay here? I don't think I can do that either." //Stay here and spend each day in an empty house that's missing you.// 

_"We were made for space."_

Hoshi held her breath as the memory of a forgotten conversation slowly resurfaced. 

_"What do you mean?"_

  


* * *

  
She remembered where they'd been at the time. Wrapped in a blanket in a private room in a makeshift ski lodge on Palamar, sipping something that resembled mulled cider and reveling in their honeymoon bliss. "What I mean, luv," Malcolm had continued, "is that we were destined to meet in space like this. Your name means _star_ in Japanese, did you know that?" 

She'd raised an amused eyebrow. "Yes, I was aware of that," she'd teased. 

Malcolm had tickled her, and when she'd begged him long enough to stop, he continued. "Well that's a dead giveaway, isn't it? You belong in the sky." He had grinned at her. "And I'm a navy man. You're my guiding star." 

Hoshi had chuckled. "You've thought a lot about this, haven't you?" 

"You occupy my thoughts much of the time, so yes." 

"What about our children? What can we name them, to keep in this spacey theme?" 

"What would you suggest?" 

"Well… Sora means sky. If we have a girl, let's name her that." 

"Well that'll be a bit of a problem." 

"Why?" 

"Because I promised my sister that I'd name our firstborn daughter Emma." 

"Why?" 

"A bet I lost when I was five." 

Hoshi remembered laughing. "Well you're lucky I like the name then!" And it had been her turn to do the tickling. 

"Stop, stop!" Malcolm had laughed, grabbing her arms and wrestling her beneath him on the couch. "I can't take it!" 

"Mwa-ha-ha-ha!" Hoshi had cackled wickedly. 

"You know what this calls for?" Malcolm had asked. 

"What's that?" 

"For the navy man to use his sextent." He'd pulled the blanket up over them, cocooning them completely. "Do you see? Sex-tent?" 

"You good for nothing punner. Kiss me before I leave you for someone who can make GOOD jokes." 

So he had. 

  


* * *

  
Hoshi continued to stare at his gravestone, willing him to give her a sign. Something more than a hazy memory about etymology and destiny. 

"Mama?" 

Hoshi turned away from her study of the grave and smiled as her daughter toddled over. "Yes, sweetie?" 

The little girl's face was smudge with dirt; she'd been playing in a nearby copse of trees. Mr. Buttons - looking well-loved and a little the worse for wear - dangled from her fingers. "Whatcha doin'?" Emma asked drowsily. 

"I was talking to your daddy," Hoshi said, smiling. She held out her arms. "Do you want to say hello?" 

"Hi, dada," Emma said, cuddling into her mother's arms. Hoshi pulled the little girl into her lap and cradled her close, stroking her soft hair. She watched as Emma's eyes quickly drifted shut; normally, this was her naptime. 

"What were you and Mr. Buttons doing?" Hoshi asked softly, voice soothing as she gently rocked her daughter. 

"Namin' cwouds," Emma responded sleepily. 

"Naming clouds? Sounds like fun." 

"Uh-huh. I wike the sky." 

Hoshi closed her eyes, resting her chin gently on her daughter's head as the little girl drifted off to sleep. "I like the sky, too," she whispered. 

Softly, she began to hum a lullabye. It was Welsh in origin - she loved the sound of the Welsh language. Malcolm had always liked it; it reminded him of a time when his mother had loved him unconditionally. 

"Huna blentyn, nid oes yma," she sang, "Ddim i roddi iti fraw… Gwena'n dawel yn fy mynwes… Ar yr engyl gwynion draw…"* 

_Sleep child mine, there's nothing here, While in slumber at my breast…. Angels smiling, have no fear… Holy angels guard your rest…_

  
  
THE END 

  
*Lyrics from "Suo Gan," a traditional Welsh lullabye. English translation by Frank Petersohn and J. Mark Sugars. 


End file.
